Simple
by SubtlePen
Summary: When you’re too broken to acknowledge you have a heart, what do you do when it starts beating? AU/AH
1. Simple

_**This is my entry in tby789 and LolaShoes new contest "Love Through Lemons"**_

_**http://www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/u/1803036/**_

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**_**"SIMPLE" was given the Love Through Lemons contest 'Host's Mention' award! **My endless thanks to tby789 and LolaShoes for hosting the contest, and for mentioning me in the same universe as their F*Awesome winners... Please go read them - you will be glad you did:

WINNER - Never Think by ilsuocantante,

2ND PLACE - To Get Back Home by LaViePastiche, and

3RD PLACE Oh, Inverted World: What Would Edward Do? by DeviKalika

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We'd been fucking for months. No one knew, of course. That would have been suicide. The world looked at us as siblings and I guess, in the eyes of the law, we were. It was a matter of convenience, really; permanent legal custody of me for the Cullens. Just words on paper. It meant little to me, one way or the other. For the last five years they were a roof over my head, a couple of decent meals a day, clothes on my back and a bed. It meant a permanent address, with no revolving bedroom door for my mother's 'boyfriends,' and a deadbolt on my own. So what if they wanted to change my last name to theirs, it was a small price. Whatever. I sure didn't need _her_ last name, _or_ the worthless sperm donor's, whoever he was.

There were four of us 'Cullen' kids, products of one fuckuppery or another, and the only other thing we really had in common was our last name and the 'parents' that gave it to us. We got along okay. There were never any major problems. I'd been the last to arrive and was, at twelve years old, probably their biggest challenge. I know it's true. In the three years after the state took me away from _her_, I bounced through a couple of fosters and a hellpit group home before I landed here. God knows what they saw that made them think I was salvageable. They had money, nice cars, nice house, and the other fuckwits living here left me alone, so I went along with it. They made the deal permanent about a year later. I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth so, sure, I'll be a Cullen if that's what you want. You can call me Minnie Mouse and tattoo a smiley face on my ass for all I care as long as you don't…

Whatever.

Words are meaningless.

For some reason it always surprised people that I had the strength to take care of myself, but I learned how pretty quick in foster. I gave off enough of a 'fuck you all' vibe that they gave me a wide berth, at home and at school. Fine by me. I had all I needed to get me by; I was just biding my time. I played nice. We did the family thing; dinners together, homework at the kitchen table, birthdays, holidays, vacations. The Cullens were good people. I can play nice. They deserved that much from me. Five years went by pretty easy.

The first time _it_ happened, he and I were just fucking around in the pool, tossing a ball back and forth, wasting time. I don't even remember where everybody else was, shopping or working or some shit. It wasn't that unusual for us to be home alone on a Saturday. Anyway, he threw the ball square at my face and it fucking left a mark. I wanted to strangle him. Nobody fucks with my face; the one thing I was grateful my mother gave me. I launched myself at him while he laughed, taunting me about the red mark coming up on my cheek. I could fucking feel the sting, and I knew it would be there for a day or two. I was pretty quick in the water, and had my hands around his neck before he could get away. The look in his eyes went from smug to terrified to pissed. Before I knew it, he had one hand jammed between my legs and the smirk had returned. It made me hesitate for just a minute as I registered just exactly what he was doing.

We'd been taunting each other with sex jokes for years. I called him 'pinkie' now and then just to piss him off, knowing full well he was packing serious meat. You live in a house with five other people long enough and sooner or later everybody catches at least a glimpse or two. Anyway, he found new and creative ways to describe 'pussy' at every opportunity, and every one of them made me want to punch him in the throat. It was all good natured fun. He was cool – it was all bullshit. We both had dirty minds, so it came easily to insult each other like that. We tried to keep it on the down low; it pissed Esme off when we really got going.

When he grabbed me that day in the pool, he wasn't fooling around anymore. Something about the look in his eyes was off – it wasn't his usual '_I got you by the short and curlies, bitch, what are you gonna do about it?_' look that normally followed an especially good one-liner. I expected him to let go almost immediately, and make another crack about me being a little girl bitching about the mark on my face, but he didn't let go. He came closer, and put his other hand around the back of my neck.

He hesitated a minute, his eyes half closed. "Aw, fuck it."

I wanted to ask him what the fuck he was talking about and when the fuck are you gonna get your fucking hand off me when he leaned in and kissed me, hard. Instantly I put my hands on his shoulders to push him away, but I underestimated his grip on the back of my neck. I tried opening my mouth to yell at him, but that was a mistake. He thought my open mouth was encouragement. I swear to god I was fucking frozen in place for what felt like a year, while his mouth was on mine, his tongue darting across my lips, one hand an iron vice on my neck, and the other clawing at me through my swimsuit. How it never occurred to me earlier that he was the stronger of us, I will never know. My arms went limp, and we crashed together in the absence of my resistance. He moved his mouth across my cheek and down my jaw, and I couldn't believe I was panting for breath. _Panting._ I was fucking panting, and tilting my head back with his goddamned lips on my throat. It was like being out of your body or some bullshit, like I wasn't even there and my body had taken over. My hands came up around his back to his shoulders and we were fucking grinding on each other and it felt fucking fabulous. Like, my brain shut off, it felt so fucking good. I was about to fucking come and we hadn't even done anything yet. _Yet._ It hit me like a clichéd ton of bricks. _Yet._ Holy shit.

I moaned.

He laughed.

"What the fuck," I whispered, his ear a breath away from my mouth. I stuck my tongue in it.

He grunted, and laughed again. "I have no fucking idea."

"This is incest or something… fucking wrong," I said, moaning as his cock against my hip.

"We're not related. Shut the fuck up and kiss me again." His hand was worming its way inside my suit and I started grinding against it. "Jesus," he muttered. "Are we gonna do this here, or what?"

"Do what?" We were already doing plenty more than we had any business doing, in our parents' pool no less.

"I wanna fuck you, and I think you want it just as bad."

"You're fucking insane," I said, grabbing a fist full of his ass. He stuck his tongue in my mouth and I sucked on it until he pulled back.

"No, but I'm horny as hell, and this," he moved his hand against me again, "tells me you are too."

We fumbled around in the pool, sucking face and groping each other for I don't know how long, until I felt the side of the pool at my back. "Oh, what the hell, you only live once, right?" _Virginity is overrated anyway, or so I've heard._

"Fuckin' A," he croaked.

Our swimsuits landed on the patio with a wet _plop_, somewhere over my shoulder. He pulled my legs up around his waist and looked at me funny.

"Do you have any fucking clue what you're doing?" I asked, laughing.

"No, and neither do you, so shut the fuck up."

"You're gonna fucking kill me with that thing, you know that, don't you? It's unnatural."

A look of horror came across his face and I instantly regretted saying it. He'd heard it before, in locker rooms. Hell, I'd joked about 'cockzilla' myself but for some reason all of a sudden, he looked like I'd kicked his puppy. I took his face in my hands and forced him to look at me. "Kidding, okay?"

"I'll go slow. Tell me, if it's… too much. I don't want to hurt you."

"I know that." I kissed him again, slower than before. It surprised me. Another out-of-body moment.

I felt the head of his iron-hard cock press against where no one had gone before, and I let out a gasp that was entirely more girly sounding than I liked. "Shh," he whispered. "It's okay." He pressed inside me, just the head.

"FUCK! That hurts like a mother fucker!" I screamed, glad several acres of land separated us from our nearest neighbors.

He pulled out instantly, resting his head on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I…"

I took a deep breath and cursed myself. "Hey – do you wanna do this?"

"You have no fucking idea how bad I want to do this."

"Then use your goddamned fingers first, okay?" I kissed him again, eyes, cheeks, ear. He nodded against my shoulder.

I felt him probing me, more gently than I would have imagined given the size of his hands. He soon had two fingers in, hitting a spot that felt fucking amazing. My head hit the edge of the pool with a _thunk_. I closed my eyes and just drifted in the bliss fog. A few minutes later I heard him grunt and felt a third finger press in. I leaned up to look at him and smiled.

"Better?" he asked, smug grin back in full force.

It wasn't a third finger. It was his cock, and he was slowly burying it in me. I had no idea how much of it I could take, but I was ready to find out. He wasn't all that freakishly thick, and hell, he wasn't really all that long. He was what you might call a 'shower,' not a 'grower.' It looked big flaccid, but in reality, didn't really change much once he was hard. Having never done _this_ before, I didn't have very much to compare him to, anyway.

"Fuck yeah, that's better. Damn. That feels kinda good." I knew the understatement would get him.

He laughed. "Kinda?" He kissed me, slow like I'd kissed him, matching the movements of his hips. He held me low around the waist with one arm, pressing me against the side of the pool with his body, and used his other hand to make sure I got what I needed. I tightened my legs around him, pulling him closer, but limiting the depth of his stroke. It didn't matter.

"I'm gonna come," he grunted.

"Race ya," I laughed, just before it overtook me. I didn't know orgasms could feel like that. My whole body shook and throbbed, which apparently sent him over the edge right after me. Strangely, the moans coming out of his mouth harmonized with mine. We stood there for a minute after he pulled out, our foreheads pressed together, waiting for our hearts to slow down.

"Fuck," he whispered, running his hands through my hair, but not looking me in the eye. I nodded, also looking away.

My stomach rumbled, and he laughed. "You want some lunch?"

"You buyin'?" he asked.

"No, but I'll make you a fucking ham sandwich if you'll make me a drink. I think I need one."

He snorted. "Yeah, okay."

I climbed out of the pool, feeling an unfamiliar, but pleasant, ache. I grinned, then slapped my own forehead. _What the fuck am I doing? He's my fucking brother, for fuck sake! _I shoved that thought aside and wrapped a towel around myself. I hate putting on a wet swimsuit. I tossed another towel at him and watched him leisurely wrap it around his hips as we walked towards the house.

We ate lunch quietly, sucking back Stoli-spiked lemonade on the back porch, facing the pool. I knew him pretty well after five years and was sure his thoughts were running the same as mine: confused, overwhelmed, stunned. Scared shitless. Turned on. Then right back to confused. Neither of us said a word.

I lay my head back on the chair and closed my eyes, the sun making me drowsy in spite of the raging mess in my head. I heard his chair scrape on the patio, then the sound of him stacking our plates.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"Yup. Going inside."

"M'kay. Later."

"Yup." I heard the back door close and, the next thing I knew, Esme was waking me for dinner.

That evening passed quietly. So did the following day, Sunday. We all had breakfast together and made plans for dinner out that evening. I spent the day in my room, organizing my music, surfing, killing time. I don't know what the others did. I didn't see _him_ until it was time to leave for dinner.

Dinner was normal. The following day was normal. Everything was normal. A fucking week went by. Normal. But _I_ wasn't normal. I didn't know what normal was any more. We ate meals together, watched movies with the rest of the family, I beat his ass at chess as usual. Everything was _as usual_, on the surface at least. Deep down, I knew I was a fucking mess. I could barely look at him without thinking about the pool, or his hands, or his ass, or his mouth. Or my fingers in his hair. Or the color of his eyes, bloodshot from the chlorine that day. Or the feeling of him _inside_ me. He, however, appeared to be completely unfazed. He woke up in the morning cheerful like nothing was wrong, called me names, passed me the butter at the dinner table. It kind of pissed me off.

That following Saturday, I stopped by his room. I knew he was still downstairs, and took advantage of the moment. I opened the door and dropped a shiny new brass key in the middle of his bed. I hoped he'd figure it out. Mine was the only room with a deadbolt lock.

I heard the rest of the family go to bed, listening to muttered 'good nights' as each door closed over the course of the next hour or so. His was the last to close, at the opposite end of the hall from mine. I felt like puking. I had no idea if he'd figure it out, although he was a pretty smart guy. The next question was did he want to… what? What did I want him to do? Come to my locked room in the middle of the night and let himself in and then what? What the fuck was I thinking? Christ. What I really needed to do was talk to him. Find out what the fuck was in his head, figure out if I was getting myself all worked up over a one-time thing. Yeah. Talk.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand. Fuck! Why didn't I think of that? Fucked me senseless he did. Literally. Senseless.

It was a one word text: _What._

I responded in kind. _Talk._

_K_.

I rubbed my hand across my forehead, wondering what the fuck I was going to say to him. I pulled on a pair of boxers to sleep in and was tugging a beater over my head when I heard the key in the lock. I instantly tensed. He walked in, shirtless, oversized sleep pants low on his hips, hem dragging the floor. From the look of things, he was commando underneath. Fuck. _Half hard_. He slipped in, closed the door behind him silently and locked the deadbolt. I swallowed a lump in my throat. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.

"Took you long enough," he whispered.

"What the fuck? You've been ignoring me all week!"

"Shh. Keep your voice down. I haven't been ignoring you, I've been avoiding _scrutiny_, you asshat. You think they'll be all rainbows and sunshine if we start kissing each other good morning all of a sudden? Shit. Besides, you've been ignoring _me_!"

"Well… fuck. Okay. Christ, this is fucking with my head. I just… FUCK!"

He was kneeling in front of me, hands on my legs, his face inches from mine. "Hey. We can make this as simple or as complicated as we want. What do you want?"

"I want your fucking hands on me. That's what I want."

He stifled a laugh. "I gathered that. Do you want simple, or complicated?"

I looked at him, staring at point blank range, trying to identify what I saw. "I want simple." His eyes flickered closed for a second and he sighed, then he leaned in to kiss me.

"Fine. We can limit this to days when no one is around, or we can do the sneaky thing after everyone's gone to bed."

"What the fuck are we even…" He cut me off.

"Simple, remember? Me, you, horny. Right? Simple."

"Right. Simple." _That's what I wanted, right?_

"I have condoms in my bedroom, do you want me to keep them down here?"

"Why do we…"

"Cleanup. Do you want to explain to Esme why you need clean sheets all the time?"

"Right. No, keep them in here. I don't think I could… without the deadbolt."

"Do you want me to go get one now?"

He had one hand in my hair, the other on my cheek. I thought for a minute and nodded yes. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a condom and a tiny bottle of lube.

He looked at me sheepishly, then smiled that goddamned smug grin. _Fucker._

"Lube?"

"Just in case," he whispered, pushing me back onto my bed. "You were so fucking tight the other day you nearly cut off my circulation. I thought this might help."

"Let's find out," I said as I pulled the beater up and over my head.

He kissed me, moaning against my lips, panting and eager and needy. He was obviously torn between running his hands across my chest and removing our clothes. I rolled the condom onto him when he settled between my legs. He dribbled lube on his wrapped cock and winked at me. He used his lubed hand to work me over to the point where I was damn near ready to beg him to just fuck me and get it over with. He leaned over me, pulling my knees up towards my chest, and entered me slowly, filling me, stretching me inch by glorious, mother fucking, excruciating, perfect inch. Nothing, and I mean _NOTHING, _felt like that. Fucking incredible.

It took every molecule of self-restraint I possessed to stay quiet. I could tell he struggled, too. We kept our mouths close together, stealing each other's breath, silencing each other's sounds. When it was over, he tossed the condom in the trashcan under my desk and came back to stand next to my bed where I lay like an overcooked noodle.

"Can I stay a while, or do you want me to go?"

I looked at him, confused. "Simple?"

"Right. I'll see you in the morning."

My gut twisted, and I hated it. I stuck my hand out to grab his wrist before he could walk out of arm's reach. "Wait. Stay a while. Staying can be simple."

He nodded and crawled into my bed behind me, still naked and damp with sweat. He wrapped his arms around me, kissed me between my shoulder blades and whispered one word before I drifted to sleep: "Simple."

The rest of the summer passed much the same. We spent nights together several times a week, making sure he made it back to his room long before anyone else would be awake. We perfected the silent fuck, but all hell broke loose when the house was empty. We had a little fun in the pool or backyard now and then, and even managed to christen the kitchen island one particularly memorable day. We kept it simple. Scratching an itch. It never dawned on us to try and find other people to do the scratching. Simple. After my original squick over the 'sibling' thing, we agreed to just let it be whatever it was.

School started in August. He and I were in the same grade, and the school was small enough that we had one or two classes together. We sat together in class, but never at lunch. He was always more outgoing than me, and seemed to accumulate groupies, even though he never pursued anything more than superficial friendships with any of them. He always ate with his little posse of revolving idiots. I, on the other hand, never gave a fuck for making friends. Who needs more people that will eventually let you down? The only thing I had in common with these people was spending 7 hours a day under the same roof. I kept to myself.

One day he strolled into the cafeteria parading a fucking blonde glamazon on his arm, like he was escorting her to a fucking cotillion. I knew she had to be a new student, since I'd never seen her before. I nodded at him as they walked by. He nodded back, smug ass fucking grin plastered on his face. I wanted to stand up and slap him. _Simple_, I chanted in my head. _Simple, simple, simple_. He didn't come to my room that night, or the next, or the next.

Then, on the eighth night, for the first time, I went to his.

I tiptoed in and closed the door as softly as I could. Why, I have no idea. I planned on waking him up anyway, so what did it matter? I heard the sheets rustle as he shifted position. I stripped off my clothes and slipped in beside him. I knew he was awake, but he didn't acknowledge my unexpected presence in his bed. _I can play that game, bud._ See if you can ignore _this_. I ran my hands slowly over his arms and shoulders, then pulled back the covers and discovered he was nude. I caressed up and down his back, his ass, between his thighs, down to his feet and back again. I was amazed that he could lay so still when I was touching him like this. I began to kiss him, following my hands, placing lingering wet kisses everywhere I touched. His skin was silk beneath my lips, his muscles and sinew felt like _life_. I could feel him vibrate with the pounding of his heart, see his ribs spread and fall as his breathing sped up, but he never moved, never spoke.

I pulled him forcibly onto his back and sat on my heels, staring at him. Fuck, he was beautiful.

Still, he never made a sound, never pushed me away, never reached out to touch my face, or my hand. Never looked at me. I crawled between his legs and kissed my way slowly across his body, neck to shoulder, shoulder to nipple, nipple to navel, navel to hip. I licked and sucked and nibbled every inch of his torso, and still he never acknowledged me.

His cock, however, was another matter entirely.

He was full-on hard from the minute I rolled him over, fucking dripping on his belly. It looked fucking _painful_. I nuzzled him, inhaling the scent of him; warm and salty and _man_. I'd never done this for him before, and my heart was leaping out of my chest at the thought of doing it now. I expected it to repulse me, or bring back too much… but it was _him_, and no one else. I was okay. It pissed me off that I was about to do it and he might as well be in a fucking coma for all the reaction I was likely to get, but by Christ I was going to do it. Then he can go back to his pretty little blonde arm candy and… whatever. It didn't matter. But I wanted a fuck, goddamn it, and he was going to give it to me, one last time if nothing else.

I cupped his tight, round balls in one hand and fisted his shaft in the other, giving each a slow tug. _Nothing_. I nuzzled him again, dragging my nose and lips from root to tip. _Nothing_. I circled the head of his cock with my tongue, tasting him, and noticed his hand flatten stiffly against the bed sheet. Fuck, he tasted even better than he smelled. I opened my mouth and sucked him in as far as I could, covering everything else with my fist. I felt his hips twitch up. _God damn, that's amazing. To get that reaction from him, even when he's fighting it so hard. Why is he fighting it?_ I pulled back, sucking on him the whole way. I twisted my hand at the top and took him in again, as far as I could.

"Stop," he mumbled. "Stop. Please."

He brought his hands to my face, but the gesture didn't feel like 'stop.'

"Stop, Edward, please. Please stop," more insistent on pushing me off his cock.

"Why, Jasper? I'm keeping things simple, right? I just want to suck you off, maybe you'll give me a pity fuck when I'm done, before you trade me in for the blonde. It is what it is, right? _Simple._"

I was on my back in an instant, my arms pinned above my head. His eyes were wild, swollen and red. "A pity fuck? Is that what you want? Is that what you think…? _Fine._"

He reached down between us and grabbed himself, pressing against my ass without warning, lube or glove. His voice became an evil hiss. "Fuck you, Ed. It was _never_ simple. I fucking _hate you _for never bothering to think about it until you felt a twinge of jealousy. That stupid fucking girl means _nothing_. NOTHING!"

He faltered over the last half dozen words, and I felt his tears pelting my face. He tried to fuck me, but couldn't. He let go of my arms.

I pushed the hair back from his face, away from his eyes. He collapsed onto my chest, sobbing. I wrapped my arms around him and held him till morning. I no longer cared who knew, or how they found us.

We'd been fucking for months. Or, at least, I convinced myself we'd been _fucking_. Turns out that is farthest from the truth and, deep down, I'd known it all along.

It was never just fucking, for either of us.

And it was anything but simple.

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A/N: Leave me some love...

8/16/09 Chapter two, 'Anything But Simple,' should be uploaded later this week. please put me on alert so you can read Jasper's Point of View...


	2. Anything But Simple

"_**Anything But Simple"  
**_

_How do you read the emotions of someone who refuses to feel them? How do you resuscitate a dead heart? How do you tame a feral soul?_

_~x~  
_

_This chapter is Jasper's point of view on his relationship with Edward. The Love Through Lemons contest limited me to 5000 words, but these boys, Jasper in particular, had much more than that to say. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into their family life and the development of their relationship._

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_******Jasper******_

We'd been 'fucking' for months. He thought no one knew, of course. He was nowhere near ready for that.

I don't really know when it started, but it was certainly well before that day in the pool. It's hard to tell, really. All four of us were broken in one way or another, but we were perfect together in some fucked up 'fate' sort of way. Maybe Esme knew. Yes, I'd bet anything that she and Carlisle saw even before he and I did. Hell, knowing them, they probably predicted it when they brought him into the family, cobbling all our lives together from nothing, but we were just children then. I was only three, when I became a Cullen.

When my mother, Esme's best childhood friend, died with my father in a car accident, they took me in without hesitation. She and Carlisle had been unable to have biological children. It was a no-brainer to add me to their little family when my parents died, leaving me without any other living relatives.

Emmett was here first. He was given up for adoption by his mother after his father died in a hunting accident, leaving her with seven mouths to feed. Emmett was the youngest at two years old, and I guess the easiest for her to relinquish. She kept all the others.

When Em and I were seven (our birthdays were about four months apart), Dad came home from the hospital very upset. He gathered us together in the family room and explained to us, in ways seven-year-olds could understand, that he'd met a little girl at the hospital that day that he wanted to talk to us about. All I remember from that conversation was him crying and Mom rocking me and Em in her arms. Well, I also remember him telling us she'd been 'abused' but, at seven years old, we had no idea what that meant besides 'hurt.' Of course, now I'm old enough to understand. Fortunately, Rose was only six at the time and has few real memories. I think we're all grateful for that.

Rose was taken into state custody, having been removed from her parent's home after the incident that landed her in the hospital. Dad and Mom fought to have her fostered with us and, by the time the state agreed, her room was painted, decorated and waiting. Em was smitten from the first second. He refused to call her by name, referring to her as "Angel" instead; a habit he continues to this day. If she woke up crying in the night, he was always the first to crawl into bed with her, even before Mom could make it down the hall. Sometimes he and I would both go to her. I would sit in her rocker while he sat on the edge of her bed, patting her hand saying 'there, there, Angel. It's okay,' like a little old man (in Spider-Man pajamas) comforting his wife. He's an old soul, that's for sure; a teddy bear with an old soul.

Rose was yanked back and forth between us and her birth mother for years. Her father and another man wound up in prison after what happened, but her mother blamed Rose. Who the hell blames a six-year-old for something like that? It was a crazy mess. Eventually, it boiled down to her mother choosing her rat bastard husband over Rose. He got out of prison and she took him back with open arms. It was all the ammunition Dad needed to get Rose out of her clutches once and for all, but she still fought the adoption. It was finalized just last year. Nine years, it took. We had a helluva party that day. That was the day I first really knew, I guess, or at least had the first inklings. Looking back, I guess the party was probably when _he_ knew it too, even if he couldn't admit it.

We got home from the courthouse and the entire place was decorated in a 'welcome home' theme. Of course, she'd been living with us for nine years, off and on, but this was the end of that hell. She'd been through so many emotions, fear, anger, grief, hatred, depression. We went through it all with her; family counseling, med cocktails, custody hearings, and the god-awful sense of loss that came every time her mother got custody back, even briefly.

We were all blubbering idiots, crying and laughing and high-fiving each other, all damn day long. We kept calling each other by our full names, emphasizing the "Cullen" every time, hammering home for each of us who we are, reinforcing the idea of what makes up your true family: it wasn't the name we were given at birth, but the name _love_ gave us, that united us. Rose beamed every time she heard one of us say 'Rosalie _Cullen_.' Edward shocked us all speechless when he approached her with open arms, pulling her into a slow, rocking hug, saying nothing. Mom retreated to the kitchen under the guise of 'checking on lunch.' She couldn't hide her tears from me, though. I saw everything. I saw him looking only at _me_ while he hugged Rose, before his eyes closed.

Edward had been with us since he was twelve. He, Em and I were all within a few months of the same age. He'd already been bouncing around the foster system for three years, the last joint being some fucked up group home they put him in after an altercation with his foster family. He ended up in the ER when Dad was on duty, presenting a broken hand and a bloody face. In what we came to know and love as classic Edward, he refused to say much of anything beyond 'fuck you' to every question asked of him about his injuries. Dad got one version of the story out of his foster mother, and that's how he ended up in the group home the next night. One of the eight other foster kids he lived with apparently started shit with Edward over 'music' and it ended in a fist fight. He was under our roof within a week.

Dad knew his whole story, without a doubt, but didn't share it with the rest of us. I guess he knew Edward was old enough to decide who to tell and who not to tell, and when I think back on it, it was for the best. Edward had to come to grips with it himself first, before he could tell anyone else. He had to fit the pieces together and figure out who he was, before anyone else could begin to understand him. Little by little he came out of his shell, with us at least, but he was still an aloof, stoic ass to everyone else.

Over the years, I picked up nuggets of his past by paying careful attention to his behavior and offhand remarks he made. He eventually told me everything, but that took time. All we knew those first months was that he was reclusive, genius-level intelligent, and contact-phobic. He hated anyone to touch him, or his belongings, and had night terrors only Mom could calm. He hated to be told 'I love you.' More than hated; it _enraged_ him. The first time Mom said it, about a month after he moved in, Dad had to sedate him to keep him from destroying half the house. He was a wiry little fuck back then, but we soon learned not to underestimate his strength or determination.

He was behind in school, yet managed to advance two whole grades in one semester to catch up with me and Emmett. He had a near photographic memory for absolutely everything and soon became every teacher's academic darling, which he of course hated. He warmed to Dad and Mom first, and the rest of us by degrees, but every night he still clicked the deadbolt on his bedroom door.

He was first taken into state custody at eight years old when a bystander saw him sleeping in a locked car in the middle of the night. His mother was turning tricks a few blocks away and, from what Dad later told me, this wasn't a new development in their lives. He was in foster care for a few months while his mom attempted to clean up her life. Once she had a job and an apartment, they gave him back to her. She ended up losing the job and started whoring out of their apartment, which worked out well for her since she no longer needed to worry about a babysitter for Edward while she 'worked.' It all came apart a few months later when she got arrested. He ended up back in the system while she did jail time for drug possession and solicitation. When she got out she never bothered to try getting him back, and the state let him fall through the cracks until that night at the ER. It took about a year for Dad's lawyers to track his mother down, and she signed the adoption papers without a second glance. She'd been through the wringer before, trying unsuccessfully to pin down who his biological father was. The state let the adoption go through without his signature. After that, Edward seemed to always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. I guess, with all he'd been through, I'd be waiting for it, too.

Dad and Mom insisted on a very regimented household. Wake-up times, meal times, study times, bedtimes; all of it was very structured and predictable. I'm not sure how much of that was just their nature, and how much of it was a coping strategy for all our individual quirks, but it worked for our family. Edward relaxed week by week, and learned to 'play well with others,' as the saying goes. There were a few dust-ups here and there between the four of us, but never anything serious. We all learned to stay out of Edward's way. It was like taming a feral cat. You put out food, you sit quietly and watch, and you wait for the trust to develop. Eventually they come close enough to sniff your fingers, or let you scratch behind their ears, but they're always startled easily, claws at the ready. The day you finally feel them seek out your hand is like heaven.

The day of Rose's adoption party was one of those days.

We'd developed this weird antagonistic relationship. He had a wicked sense of humor; dry and cutting. He could say shit to you that would make you want to buy a gun if it had come from anyone else, but for some reason coming from him it just made you look forward to thinking up a good comeback. It took a while to figure out that every time he called you a fuckwit or asshole, he was being affectionate. He'd apparently had so little real affection growing up, words like that seemed appropriate in a backward sort of way. Like a little boy yanking on a cute girl's ponytail, only magnified by a thousand. So I gave as good as I got, and we got along pretty well.

­Things had been going well. Edward was doing great in school, and dealing pretty well day to day with the usual high school bullshit. I came to his rescue a time or two when he got cornered by some shit-mouthed fucker-or-other wanting dirt on the Cullen 'story.' We were usually able to stay above it all, but occasionally some assbrain decided that there was more to us than just a handsome doctor and his lovely wife adopting four 'pretty' kids for no reason. They were certain we all had wild sex orgies or some shit, just because Rose and Em were so glued to each other. Sick fuckers – she was just a kid! Em was in love with her, without a doubt, but he would never dream of touching her like that. Once we were all out of high school, though, all bets would be off. Somehow, we all knew they'd end up together.

Edward, being Edward, seemed to attract that kind of attention more than the rest of us. Just because he was reclusive, however, did not make him weak. A target, maybe, but never weak. A couple of jocks had him cornered in the gym after school one day, all up on his shit about our 'sitch,' and I could tell by the way he was balling his fists he was about thirty seconds from an epic blow up. I weaseled my way between them all and somehow got the jocks to back off, but Edward looked at me like I'd just cut his dick off.

He shoved me, hard, and I tripped over the corner of the bleachers, landing on my ass. "Back the fuck off, _Jazzy_. I'm man enough to take care of myself."

I was back on my feet and in his face almost instantly. "I didn't say you weren't, _Eddie_. I'm just trying to keep your ass out of the principal's office. I have better things to do for the next six Saturdays than drive your sorry twat back and forth to detention after Dad yanks your car keys. Chill the fuck out."

We were standing close enough together that I could see his pulse throbbing in his neck, and hear his teeth grinding together. He stood there like that for a second, and I braced myself for impact. He'd never really come out and _hit_ me, but if there was a time when it seemed likely, this was it. But he didn't. He managed to pull himself back with a deep breath and a roll of his shoulders.

"Yeah, okay," he mumbled. "Thanks."

It took me a minute to internalize the sincerity of his gratitude, and that I was still standing. "You're welcome, ya big pussy. Can we fucking go home now? I'll bake you cookies if you promise to just walk away from those asswads next time."

"Bake me cookies? I think you're the one that's grown a pussy, cockzilla. I'll have to think of a new nickname."

"Fuck you, Ed."

"Whatever."

This was how things went with us, until Rose's party.

He stood there, hugging her, looking directly at me with this _thing_ in his eyes. I couldn't define it, even though I could usually read him like a fucking large-print book. The closest I could come was sad, or _hungry_. Whatever it was, it went straight to my cock. I found myself _adjusting_, right there in my own goddamned living room, with my dad and brother standing right beside me all glowing and shit over Ed's little emotional breakthrough, with my mother trying not to cry out loud in the kitchen. Emmett cleared his throat after a minute, as if to remind Edward he had his arms around Em's girl. Edward closed his eyes for the last few seconds of their hug, and I took the opportunity to leave the room.

The next six months were weird. Not bad, just _weird_. Our name-calling escalated to the point where Mom had to put her foot down. She'd never come down on us for our language before, although we'd all pretty much self-regulated after seeing her flinch a few times. I don't even remember what it was that put her over the edge, but we were told in no uncertain terms that it was no longer acceptable. It was a funny thing, really, because with anyone else her reaction probably would have had the effect of putting you in your respective naughty chairs for a time-out, then you sending the other one stink-eye for getting you into trouble. With Edward and me, it just made us lean closer together to keep our foul-mouthed ribbing under wraps. We actually spent _more_ time together, which was kind of like my personal hell: he was flirting with me, and he didn't even know it.

Every time he made some grotesque comment about my looks, or my intelligence, or my ability (or lack thereof) to get laid, I washed it through my Edward filter for derogatory phrases and it all came out the same – he had feelings for me he didn't know how to process, and the insults came from the core of that frustrated, emotionally immature child, struggling to express himself. We danced around like this for months. I'm pretty sure Mom knew where it was headed, and probably Dad as well. They never expressed a bias for or against homosexuals, but always talked about wanting us all to have 'healthy relationships.' I guess I knew, but didn't dwell on it. I turned the heads of both genders, and it was flattering from any angle. The equipment worked, and I occasionally rubbed one out when the mood struck me, but it never mattered to me that I had leanings both ways. No one in particular ever stood out, before Edward.

For months after the party, I found myself staring at him, wanting to see him with his shirt off, sit beside him and feel his shoulder touching mine, hear him breathing into my ear. I stopped counting how many times I'd woken up in the middle of the night needing to jerk off before I could go back to sleep. I kept that shit under lock and key. The last thing I needed was that kind of humiliation if I turned out to be wrong about the way he looked at me at Rose's party. I guess I hid it too well: through it all, he was unchanged.

He continued to taunt me, like nothing had changed, like nothing was different. It pissed me off that he couldn't tell something, anything, was eating me alive. I mean, we were pretty fucking close. There wasn't much that went unsaid between us, even with all the mutual antagonizing. This, however, seemed to be too big for words. I became belligerent, intentionally pissing him off, goading him into stupid arguments over nothing. Dad questioned me about it, but I blew him off. I hated doing it, but I guess I was just as bad as Edward; unwilling, or unable, to accept what was brewing between us.

The day in the pool was surreal. I was throwing the volleyball to him with considerably more force than was necessary to clear the distance and managed to catch him off guard with it, hitting him in the face. He launched at me like a lightning bolt, grabbing me around the neck. Initially I thought it was funny, but when I realized that his hands were around my throat, it scared the piss out of me. I knew how strong he was. Half a second later he wasn't so much squeezing my throat, as grazing his hands on the base of my neck, above my collarbones. It felt good, and it pissed me off. He was going to touch me like this and then leave me hanging, and I'd had about enough.

Before I realized I was doing it, I'd put my hand between his legs and palmed his balls. His eyes grew enormous, and all I could think about were his fucking lips on mine, and wrapping my hand around his cock.

I put my free hand around the back of his neck to keep him from backing away. For a half-second it occurred to me this could be construed as assault, but I was already way beyond my ability to stop. I muttered "aw, fuck it," and closed the distance between our mouths.

It scared me, at first, because he just stood there. Then he tried to shove away from me, but I wasn't going to give up that easy. I knew in my heart that he wanted this, he just hadn't admitted it to himself. I wasn't going to drop it and let him run away. It was asshole-ish, I knew, but it made sense in that moment. He opened his mouth to me and it was heaven. He stopped resisting and my heart did fucking flip-flops. When his hands came up my back to my shoulders, pulling us closer, I wanted to weep. _I was right_.

I couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get enough of my mouth on his lips, face and throat. I laughed out loud when he moaned, the vibration tickling my lips where they sucked on his adam's apple.

"What the fuck," he whispered before licking my ear.

_What the fuck_, indeed. I was giddy, stupid, _high_. "I have no fucking idea." I wanted to say something more meaningful, but knew the feral cat was just beneath the surface of whatever it was we were doing.

"This is incest or something… fucking wrong," he mumbled, grinding with me. Holy _hell_ he felt good, but I needed more. More contact, more skin, more hands. _More_.

"We're not related," I insisted. "Shut the fuck up and kiss me again." I finally got my hand inside his goddamned shorts and took hold of him and, Jesus, I'd never felt anything so right in my whole life before that. He was bigger than I thought, and just as hard as I was. My need to be inside him was bearing down on me like a freight train, and I lost the ability to say anything intelligent.

"Are we gonna do this here, or what?"

"Do what?" he asked.

Fuck, I'm an idiot, but my mouth just kept going. Apparently months of pent up sexual tension brought out my inner tactless bastard. "I wanna fuck you, and I think you want it just as bad."

Fortunately, he laughed. "You're fucking insane," he mumbled, grabbing hold of my ass with both hands and pulling me closer.

I practically tongue fucked his mouth, but he was all in, kissing me just as hard as I kissed him. "No, but I'm horny as hell, and this," I said, stroking his cock, "says you are, too." Somehow we made it to the side of the pool and I was able to lean my whole body against his. We stood there, grinding and kissing and panting till I was about to nut.

"Oh, what the hell," he whispered. "You only live once, right?"

I barely recognized my own voice. "Fuckin' A." We were a tangle of limbs trying to get our swimsuits off, throwing them on the patio. I didn't care where they went as long as they were _off_. I pulled his legs up around my hips and froze.

"Do you have any fucking clue what you're doing?" he asked, laughing.

"No, and neither do you, so shut the fuck up." I knew, mechanically speaking, what I wanted, but I guess I was a little fuzzy on the details. My cock was pressing up against his ass and it was killing me to just stand there.

"You're gonna fucking kill me with that thing, you know that, don't you? It's unnatural."

I wanted to crawl in a hole and fucking die on the spot. I instantly flashed to every suspicion I ever had about the reason for his deadbolt. Hell, my dick wasn't any bigger than his, in reality, and neither of us was _that_ big. It was his joking statement about hurting him that chilled me.

When I hesitated, he gently took my face in his hands and forced me to look at him. "Kidding, okay?" he whispered, following the question with a soft kiss.

His tenderness was completely unexpected, and gave me a glimpse of his true character, beneath the walls and insults and standoffishness. I nodded my forehead against his. "I'll go slow. Tell me, if it's… too much. I don't want to hurt you."

"I know that," he whispered, and kissed me again. I hoped I never did anything to hurt this side of him, the tender, gentle Edward that kissed me so sweetly; the damaged, feral boy that was so obviously capable of immense kindness. I don't think he was even aware of what he was showing me.

I nodded, looking him the eye. He was suddenly tense and breathing hard through his mouth. He let out a high pitched gasp when he felt me pressing my cock into him.

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered, willing it to be so. I felt my head push through and he was unbelievably tight, to the point of pain.

He shouted "FUCK! That hurts like a mother fucker! CHRIST!"

I pulled out instantly. "I'm sorry, I…" I couldn't find the words, and I couldn't even look at him. I dropped my face in the crook of his neck and fought to keep from crying, knowing that was _it_. It was over. I waited for him to push me away, insult me, rage at me, but he didn't.

He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, like he'd done in the gym that day. "Hey – do you wanna do this?"

I choked back the sob I was too humiliated to own. "You have no fucking idea how bad I want this."

He tilted my face to his. He had this shit-eating crooked grin on his face. He whispered "then use your goddamned fingers first, okay?" He kissed me again, lightly. I nodded, and knew the smile I mustered was weak.

I moved one hand back to his ass. His legs were still loosely wrapped around my hips, buoyant in the pool water, so it wasn't difficult. I did as he said. After the shock of the initial intrusion, I felt his body sag more and more into mine as I continued. His head lolled back against the edge of the pool and I took that as my cue to try again. He was still tight, but I slipped in with much less effort. He felt incredible, like the most perfect fist, tight and _everywhere_, but compounded a hundredfold by his hands on my body, urging me on. He lifted his face to me, and he was smiling this beautiful, soft, open smile that made the last ten minutes of angst beyond worthwhile. I was soaring; body and soul, and it seemed he was, too.

"Better?" I asked, making slow, even movements.

He winced, then slowly smiled again. "Fuck yeah, that's better. Damn. That feels kinda good."

"Kinda?" _Sarcastic bastard._ I kissed him, slow and deep, in time with the movements of my hips. I had one arm wrapped around his waist, and the other hand on his cock, stroking him as his body stroked me. I have no idea how long we stayed like that, but it wasn't long enough. He tightened his legs around me, limiting my travel, but it did little to delay the orgasm that was threatening within me.

"I'm gonna come," I moaned. I was chanting his name over and over in my mind, each stroke, each heartbeat christened with his name.

"Race ya," he laughed, and he exploded in my hand, his body trembling in my arms, pulsing around me. My body answered his, and my legs nearly gave out in the aftermath. Oversensitive, I pulled out, but neither of us made an effort to move apart. We stood there, panting, hearts pounding, for what felt like days.

"Fuck," I whispered, running my fingers through his thick mess of hair, not wanting to let go, but not looking him in the eye. He nodded, as if to mirror the sentiment. The moment was just too intense; there was too much to say, and no words that fit.

Then his damned stomach rumbled.

We laughed and muttered some bullshit about making lunch and needing a stiff drink, and the bubble burst. I wanted to kiss him again, to feel his hands on my face, but he was laughing and making moves to get out of the pool. I watched his ass as he wrapped a towel around his waist, sunlight bouncing off his wet skin, and wondered for a moment if that was all he'd ever give me, if he was too broken to give me his heart, too afraid to accept mine in return. I knew that was what I wanted, above and beyond anything physical. I wanted him to let me love him, let me give him the love he deserved.

I shook my head to clear the fog, poured some vodka over ice, and topped it with lemonade. He was already on the back porch with sandwiches, flopped in a lounge chair, long damn legs sticking out from under the towel that barely clung to him. We ate in silence, staring at the pool where we'd just lost our virginity, each of us swimming in our own confused morass of thoughts.

The sun was hot, and I was starting to sweat. He was falling asleep, so I gave up hope that we'd be able to talk about it. I gathered our lunch dishes. He thanked me for cleaning up and said '_later_' as if it was just another Saturday afternoon by the pool. I was crushed.

I went inside, showered, and collapsed nude on my bed, crying like a fucking child until I couldn't remember why I was crying. He was still my 'brother,' we still shared a roof, and I'd still see him every day. If it was a one-time thing that meant nothing to him, I'd take it to my grave. Nothing else was within my control.

**********

The rest of the weekend was a blur. We ate together as a family, but otherwise kept to ourselves. I barely saw him. As more time passed, and the following week dragged by, the harder it was to maintain my distance. He looked like he wasn't sleeping well, and every morning all I wanted to do was put my arms around him. I waited every day, hoping he'd give me an excuse to at least give him a dopey one-armed man hug, just so I could touch him, but it never materialized. I knew that any overtures on my part would send up red flags to everyone in the house, especially Mom. Edward had mellowed over the years, and allowed her to initiate affectionate gestures, but no one else ever tried. He would occasionally put a hand on your shoulder in passing, or guy-punch your arm, or elbow Rose now and again to tease her, but it was all done on his terms.

By the time I went to bed the following Saturday, I was damn near ready to spill it all to Mom and ask for her help. I knew she could tell something was up, she always could. No matter what undercurrents of angst were floating around between the four of us, no matter how petty or fleeting, she always knew. She kissed me goodnight, with her hand on my cheek, and gave me a little smile. "You always wear your heart on your sleeve, did you know that? You read others so well, but I read you, too. Whatever the problem is, a solution always presents itself. We just have to keep our eyes open."

I was speechless. I nodded, kissed her cheek, and went to my room. There, shiny and bright in the middle of my bed, was a key. I knew exactly what it was. He wanted me to come to his room, without having to knock. My heart was pounding, and it kind of pissed me off. Why the hell had he waited a week? Why tonight? I changed into sleep pants and sat on the edge of my bed staring at the key. Rather than run down the hall and make a fool of myself, I picked up my phone and sent him a text.

JC: _What_

His response took a minute or two.

EC: _Talk_

Finally.

JC: _K_

I walked down the hall, and put the key to use. He was pulling a ratty wife-beater over his head as I closed the door behind me. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. I kept my place, praying to god he didn't notice my dick waking up as soon as I used the key.

"It took you long enough," I finally said. I hated waiting for him to say something, and I'd been doing it for months. It made me feel powerless.

"What the fuck? You've been ignoring me all week!"

Here I'd gone all week trying to keep anyone from suspecting anything, and trying to give him space, and he's been just as desperate for me as I was for him? What a waste.

"Shh," I hissed. "Keep your voice down. I haven't been ignoring you, I've been avoiding scrutiny, you asshat. You think they'll be all rainbows and sunshine if we start kissing each other good morning all of a sudden? Shit. Besides – you've been ignoring _me_!" It was a bit of an oversimplification, especially considering kissing him good morning every day was exactly what I wanted to do, but I wasn't quite sure if he was ready for me to dump my heart all over him just yet.

"Well… fuck. Okay. Christ, this is fucking with my head. I just… FUCK!"

That was it, for me – he was crumbling before my eyes. In just that instant between getting pissed about being ignored and my chastisement, he was losing it.

I made my way across the room in three long strides and knelt in front of him. His chest was heaving, and his fists were buried in his hair. I put my hands on his legs and got close enough to kiss him, but held back. "Hey, shhh. We can make this as simple or as complicated as we want. What do _you_ want?" In my head I begged him to want me, to go forward with this, to not be afraid.

He looked at me as if I'd asked the most ridiculous question he'd ever heard. "I want your fucking hands on me. That's what I want."

I choked back a sob, because I desperately hoped that wasn't _all_ he wanted. "I gathered that. Do you want this to be simple, or complicated?" I cringed as soon as I said it. I knew my idea of _simple_ would be his idea of _complicated_. I wanted his heart, nothing more and nothing less, but I don't think he knew how to give it. I tried to tell him with my eyes, but I think the events of this entire week were just too much for him to process, especially now.

"I want simple."

I knew it, even before he said it. I took a deep breath, and leaned in to kiss him, softly, sweetly, trying to tell him with my lips that complicated could be wonderful. From somewhere inside me, I heard a voice that said _take what you can get_. And so I did. I straightened my back and swallowed my heart.

"Fine. We can limit this to days when no one is around, or we can do the sneaky thing after everyone's gone to bed."

"What the fuck are we even…"

I cut him off. There was no way I could have _that_ conversation with him, knowing all he wanted was sex, and not spill my fucking guts about how much more I wanted with him. "Simple, remember? Me, you, horny. Right? Simple."

He nodded. "Right. Simple."

"I have condoms in my bedroom, do you want me to keep them down here?"

"Why do we…"

"Cleanup. Do you want to explain to Mom why you need clean sheets more often than anyone else in the house?"

"Right. No, keep them in here. I don't think I could… without the deadbolt."

Fuck. The deadbolt, again. Someone had to have hurt him, or tried to. He can't sleep, or be intimate, without a fucking deadbolt on the door. I touched his face and ran my fingers through his hair, still trying to tell him I wouldn't hurt him. I decided to put the option out there tonight, and let him lead the way. I didn't know what else to do.

"Do you want me to go get one now?"

He thought for a minute and nodded yes.

I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out a condom and a tiny bottle of lube. I hoped my embarrassment at being prepared amused him. We certainly needed to lighten the mood.

He smirked right back at me. "Lube?"

"Just in case," I whispered, pushing him back onto the bed. "You were so fucking tight the other day you nearly cut off my circulation. I thought this might help."

"Let's find out," he said, and that was all I needed to hear.

It took too long to get our clothes off, and not long enough. I wanted to go slow, take my time, remember every second, but my body had other ideas. He rolled the condom on me as soon as I was naked, and I used a little of the lube to try and get things going like I'd done in the pool. He was panting, rolling his head from side to side, whispering _please_, over and over just barely loud enough to hear. I took him slowly and damn near bit a hole in my lip to keep from crying out. We were both gasping for air, our mouths so close together we traded breath. As in the pool, it was over too soon. I pulled out and lay with him long enough to catch my breath, then got rid of the condom. I stood next to the bed, looking at his beautiful lean body, knowing that I'd put that sheen of sweat on his chest, mixed with his own cum; I'd put that smile on his face. _I_ did that. _We_ did that. I wasn't ready to leave him yet. I wanted to watch him sleep.

I wiped off our chests with a couple of tissues. "Can I stay a while, or do you want me to go?"

He looked at me, confused. I wished I'd just laid back down and not asked.

"Simple?" he asked.

I clenched my jaw, disappointed. "Right. I'll see you in the morning," I said, and turned to go. Before I took the first step, he grabbed my wrist.

"Wait. Stay a while. Staying can be simple."

_Maybe there's hope, after all_. I crawled back into his bed and wrapped my arms around him. He settled against me, and I pressed my face into the damp warmth of his back, inhaling deeply. I heard him sigh soon after, and knew he was falling asleep. I kissed him good night, between his shoulder blades, tasting his sweat on my lips. Just as I closed my own eyes, I whispered it back to him.

"_Simple_."

**********

We spent the night together every few days, making sure I was back in my own bed well before anyone else was up. I discovered that having sex while others were in the house, with the risk of being discovered, heightened the intensity of everything we did. We paid close attention to each other's reactions, and everything was compressed. Our lips were always pressed near enough to stifle an errant moan, or to whisper encouragement or direction.

The other side of that coin was the fucking _power_ of it when everyone else was gone. We were vocal, we were demanding, and we physically held nothing back. I relished the lingering ache, and the handprint bruises he put on my hips, the second time he took me; it was nothing like his gentle hesitation the first time he did it. I also discovered he liked to talk dirty. He had a knack for quoting raunchy song lyrics while we were going at it. It got to the point where I had to edit the playlists on my iPod to get rid of several songs that got me hard just hearing them. I could feel his mouth on my ear, his breath on my neck, and I didn't need that while doing dishes with Rose.

The closest we ever came to really talking about what we were doing happened right before school started. We were lying in the grass, comparing the stains on our knees when, out of the blue, he asked me if we were gay. The question startled me.

"Does it matter?"

"I... I don't know. I don't feel like this towards anyone else. There's no one else I want this with. I don't know what that means."

I wanted to tell him I thought of us as lovers, that I wanted more for us than just getting off, and that to me it went way beyond defining ourselves with some stereotype-laden label, but I couldn't bring myself to say any of it. I needed him to figure it out for himself, needed him to figure out what he felt. "I don't want this with anyone else, either. I think that makes us _us_."

He frowned a bit at that and was quiet for a few minutes. "Do you ever worry about the fact that we're technically brothers?"

"Honestly? No. Now, if I got hard for Em, _that_ would bother me. But you – no, it doesn't bother me."

"Do you think of me as less a brother than Emmett?"

I looked at him for a long time before answering, thinking about my words, desperate to tell him how I _really_ felt, but terrified of how he might react. I settled for a safe half-truth. "I think of you as the best friend I've ever had, and I'm proud to call you my family. Beyond that, I let the rest just be what it is."

He nodded and played with my hair absentmindedly. That was the extent of the conversation. I hated that I was afraid to say it, hated that I thought he couldn't handle it, hated that it might end things forever and tear our family apart. I loved him, utterly and completely. It was wearing me down not being able to tell him, but I let it be.

By the time school started, we were three months into 'it,' and the weight was killing me. He continued to mellow over the summer, accepting the small overtures Rose made, eventually returning the good night kisses he allowed her to give. He would even smile at a fatherly pat from Dad now and then, but between us nothing changed in the outward appearance of our relationship.

He refused to sit with my friends at lunch, preferring to be alone. He generally made no attempt to try and socialize with anyone but family. I was hoping he would begin to feel more comfortable in his skin, and might see some value in having other people around just to laugh with, but he still considered anyone outside our family undeserving of the effort. I wasn't a social butterfly, but there was a crew I ran with from time to time and we always ended up sitting together, even if I sat with Edward first. As soon as any of them joined us, he'd scramble off for the library, giving me a pissy look on the way. I was at a loss for what to do. I didn't want to give up my life to appease his reclusive nature, but wanted him to step out of his hole and join the world. I guess I hoped that if I could get him to do that, it would mean something bigger for our private relationship, too.

A couple of weeks into the semester, a new girl transferred to our school from out of state. She was leggy and blonde and could have given Rose a run for her money, but Rose was only sixteen, and was likely to blow this girl away in a few years. Besides, this girl needed an entire cosmetics counter to look as good as my sister did scrubbed clean. She waltzed into my Civil War history class and planted herself in the only available seat, next to mine, of course, and shot me a glance that sent shivers up my spine. I wanted to lean in and tell her she lacked the proper plumbing to get me worked up, but that would have been a lie. It wasn't just the plumbing she lacked. It was kind of funny to watch her flirt, though, so I flirted right back. It pissed off a couple of other guys in the class, so it was worth it. It was her first day, after all. I'd find a way to set her straight later on. I wasn't 'out' by any means, but I was getting to the point where I no longer cared who knew.

I walked her to lunch after class, and Edward was already in the cafeteria. All of a sudden it hit me what this might look like to him, and the world took on a dreamlike quality as I walked by him with her glued to my arm. I nodded to him, smiling and tilting my head to the side a little as I did, hoping he'd blow this off for what it was: _nothing._ He nodded back sharply, chin up, eyes squinted, a proud dagger to my gut. Unfortunately, she caught it.

She leaned closer to me and whispered "Who's that?"

"My brother, Edward," I answered.

"You don't look anything alike."

Ahh, beauty _and_ tact. Nice. I fought the urge to ask her if her IQ was a bigger number than her age. "We're adopted."

"He shouldn't act like such a prick, it ruins the pretty."

I thought about the word 'pretty' and had a vision of his face when he was coming; pretty didn't _begin_ to do him justice.

He was fucking _glorious_.

"He's not a prick," I mumbled, hating that this was the best I could come up with to defend him. I just wanted her to shut up.

I took her to my usual table, did a cursory round of introductions, and sat as far from her as I could. I heard a chair scrape loudly across the floor behind me, and knew it was Edward without even looking. I wanted to get up and walk to our next class together, but dealing with him when he was pissed usually ended up in a shouting match, and I doubted he'd thank me for starting something like that, over a girl no less, while we walked to trig.

Things were strained for the rest of the afternoon, and he avoided my car after school in favor of walking the two miles home. Dinner was a nightmare, with Mom giving me these pleading looks as if there was something I could do to fix it. I sure as hell _wanted_ to fix it, but I don't think anyone was ready for me to do that over meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

The longer I sat there, the more I wanted him to make the first move. Anything – touch my hand under the table, smile at me, lean a little closer than necessary; something. Anything. A sign that he was trying to understand, willing to hear me out instead of fuming over nothing. I'd done nothing wrong, and I wasn't prepared to see him so hatefully – jealous? – over a bimbo in the cafeteria. Maybe _this_ was his breakthrough moment. He was _jealous?_ He was _possessive_ of me? Somewhere deep down, I wondered if maybe this had finally stopped being simple for him, no longer a casual thing, no longer a way to 'scratch an itch,' as he'd once so ineloquently put it.

I didn't just _want_ him to make the next move, I _needed_ it. _He_ needed it. He needed to work through this and figure out what he wanted. I needed to know if it was possible for him to let this be something more. I wasn't happy just _fucking_ him anymore.

I excused myself from the table and took my plate to the kitchen, followed immediately by Dad. We stood at the kitchen sink, and I could tell he had something he wanted to say. Emmett waltzed in carrying everyone else's dishes and shoved me away from the sink. I heard Edward and Rose firing up a video game in the front room, and Dad nodded for me to follow him to his office.

"Something you need, Dad?" He closed the door behind us.

He took a deep breath before answering me. "I've always hoped that each of you felt safe enough in this house to come to me and Mom with anything, any concerns or problems, without fear of judgment or rejection."

I opened my mouth to speak, hoping to avoid having this conversation while Edward was still stewing, but he held his hand up for me to be silent.

"I can see there's something going on with you and Edward, and I've held off saying anything in hopes you'd bring it to me first. I respect your privacy, so I'm not going to demand that you tell me what it is, but I am compelled to tell you what I see. For the last few weeks, and especially tonight, he looks like he's about to come apart at the seams, and I see the same in you. Whatever it is, it's obviously come to a head, and I want you to realize that when it comes out, we'll all have to deal with the repercussions. Rose, Emmett, Mom, myself – all of us are involved, not just you and Edward. I don't want this to fester into something that might damage this family. I can get you boys counseling, I can try to get him in here and we can talk about it, just the three of us, or I can just trust that the two of you are dealing with it in your own way."

I nodded, contemplating what he'd said, and what he hadn't. He could very well already know everything. He deftly avoided saying it, if he did know, and still managed to tell me that he would accept us, gay or not. Either way, he could tell it was major, and let me choose whether to bring him into the mix.

"Yes, it's coming to a head. He's confused about some things, and I think I need to give him space to figure it out."

He thought for a moment, rubbing his stubbled chin. "Is there anything else you think you should tell me?"

I took a deep breath and looked away. "Not yet. He needs time, and then he and I need to talk about it first."

"I think that sounds like a good idea, son. Come here."

He pulled me into a tight man-hug. I could feel the cold smoothness of his hands through my shirt and thought about all the times he comforted me over the years, all the patients he's comforted and cared for. He was a good man, a good father. His simple praise always meant the most to me.

He released me with a vigorous pat on the back, and crossed his arms over his chest. "I love you very much, Jasper. All of you are my children no matter how you came to this family. Mom and I, even though we couldn't have biological children together, always knew we had love to give. We opened our home to Emmett when he was just a toddler, and you came to us not long after. That was just the beginning. You never can predict who you're going to love, and I believe you shouldn't hold back from expressing it. It's what makes us a family, regardless of the law, or how many last names there could be on the mailbox. I'll love you all and proudly consider you my children no matter what shape this family may take in the future."

That was it. He knew, and was prepared to support us no matter how the world might react, or how we might be viewed in the eyes of the law. I could always change my name back to Whitlock: _adding another name to the mailbox_. Those were trivial concerns to him. He just wanted us to be happy.

I smiled, choking back the lump in my throat. "Thanks, Dad. I love you, too." I leaned back to him for another hug, and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled back at me and shooed me out the door, mumbling about needing to pay some bills.

I wasn't ready to face Edward again, so shouted my 'good night' down the stairwell and went to my room.

The following week brought no significant change between us, except that I'd not been back to his bed. He was an expert wall-builder, but I knew what he was hiding. He was afraid, confused, angry, and probably really fucking horny. We'd seldom gone more than three or four days, and we were up to day eight.

It felt like I died a little each day he remained silent. I went to bed every night agitated, and woke up sad. Dad didn't broach the subject again, but he made sure to stay near me as much as he could when he was home. I noticed Mom did the same with Edward, even daring to pull his head into her lap and play with his hair while we all watched a movie together. I envied her fingers, and I think he caught me staring.

I went to bed soon after and lay there, raging hard, thinking about my hands in his hair and my chest up against his. I couldn't will my erection away, and didn't have the mental energy to jerk off, yet again, to his memory. At least tomorrow was Saturday; I didn't have to deal with school.

I was beginning to think it was well and truly over between us, that we had reached a point he wasn't willing, or able, to cross. The thought tore me apart, and tears rained from my eyes, soaking my pillow. It felt good to let it out.

Some time after midnight, I heard my doorknob turn. My gut reaction was to pretend I was asleep, hoping it was too dark to be morning already. When I heard the door close quietly and heavy breathing, I knew it was him. I started to roll over and ask him what he wanted, but it dawned on me he'd never come to my room before, not in the middle of the night, at least. I relaxed and waited for him to start talking.

He didn't start talking. I heard him strip and lay down beside me, and it broke my heart all over again. This was all he wanted, and I couldn't keep doing it. My fucking traitorous _dick_ wanted it, and made its desire painfully evident, but I knew I couldn't let it happen. I stayed stock still, hoping he'd get the hint.

He never said a fucking word. I felt five long fingers drag sensuously along my arm, then the warm, smooth back of his hand floating over my shoulders. He took a slow breath and pulled back the covers, gasping when he discovered me nude.

His beautiful strong hands explored my body, up and down my back, kneading my ass, caressing my legs, then back up again to my arms and neck. I knew he was waiting for a reaction; he didn't realize that this, _not_ responding, _was_ my reaction. When he began to kiss everywhere he touched, my tears started again. I felt like a fucking girl, bawling over a lost boyfriend. I wanted to roll over and kiss him, tell him I loved him, hold him in my arms and make love to him, and I wanted to push him away and tell him to leave and stop killing me.

He sat back and forcibly pulled me over onto my back. I didn't fight him, but stared at the ceiling, knowing he'd say something eventually. He couldn't resist saying _something_. It was as if he saved it up throughout the day, saved up all the energy others would have put into meaningless chatter, and spent it all telling me how good my body felt under his hands, or how badly he wanted to feel me inside him, or how hard he was about to come. He always said _something_, even if it was only a barely audible whisper in my ear after I came. It was never the words I craved, though, the three words I needed to hear most. I needed to hear the words because it would mean he _felt_ it, had admitted it to himself, and was finally ready to hear the same from me, or anyone else.

So I lay there, staring at the ceiling, while he kissed me from neck to hip; loving me, but not. He buried his face in my groin, breathing deep, and it shocked me. This was like his final sexual frontier, the one thing he'd never done. He didn't have to tell me why. It wasn't lost on me the significance of him doing it now. This was a huge leap for him, damn near the ultimate leap, but I still needed to hear the words. I needed to know _I_ could say the words. I prayed he could read my mind. _Let me say the words, Edward. Tell me you feel it, too_.

I felt my tears dripping across my temples and into my ears as I stared at the ceiling, feeling his tongue on me, his hot breath tickling my skin, his lips wrapped around me, his fists tugging and sliding. It was too much.

"Stop," I whispered. "Stop. Please." I put my hands on his cheeks as he continued to move up and down my length, and it felt so fucking good I almost didn't have the heart to push him off. I wanted him to stop on his own. He didn't, and I guess I knew he wouldn't.

"Stop, Edward, please. Please stop." I tightened my hands on his face, forcing him to stop moving. He let go with one last long lick.

"Why, Jasper? I'm keeping things simple, right? I just want to suck you off, maybe you'll give me a pity fuck when I'm done, before you trade me in for the blonde. It is what it is, right? _Simple._"

I flipped us over in an instant, holding his arms above his head, pinning his hips with mine. My cock ground against him and it was fucking _painful_. My heart hurt, my head hurt, my cock hurt. Everything fucking _hurt_.

"A _pity fuck_? Is that what you want? Is that what you think…? _Fine_." I wrenched his knee up towards his chest and grabbed my cock, aiming it at his ass. I hissed in his ear, "Fuck you, Ed. It was _never_ simple. I fucking _hate you _for never bothering to think about it until you felt a twinge of jealousy. That stupid fucking girl means _nothing_. NOTHING!"

I barely got the last part out. My tears were dripping on his face. I tried to give him his 'pity fuck,' but there was no way in hell I'd ever get my dick in him, dry. I'd begun to lose my erection, anyway. I hovered over him, gasping for air, wishing the fucking tears would just dry up, already.

Slowly, he reached up and pushed the hair back from my face, dragging his thumbs over my eyebrows. His eyes were so beautiful. I couldn't take it any more. I collapsed onto his chest, sobbing all over again. He wrapped his arms around me and held me, his arms warm and tight across my shoulders and waist. I gave in. I said it first. I couldn't let this die without trying, without letting him know that I loved him, that he deserved to be loved, that this was always more, to me.

He spoke quietly, evenly, without a trace of the rage I expected. "Those words are meaningless, Jasper. Vibrations in the air."

"After all this, all the years with this family, all these months with me, how can you _say_ that?! Why can't you believe how much we all love you, how much _I_ love you? Why can't you let us love you?"

"Actions are everything to me, Jas. I know they love me. They show me every day. I feel it, I just can't listen to the words."

"Can you say them? Do you feel them for me?" _Could I let him find some other way to say it, without using the words I thought I needed to hear?_

"Do you think my mother felt it whenever she said it? Do you think those words meant anything to her? We 'love' ice cream, we 'love' books, we 'love' rollercoasters. What does any of that really fucking mean? Nothing. It means nothing. This," he said, placing his hand over my heart, "and this," he said, kissing my lips, "is everything. _Simple._"

My eyes searched his, trying to figure out what he was saying but getting bogged down, no longer understanding what that word meant.

He looked like he was on the verge of tears when he finally spoke again. "It meant something else to you, didn't it? That word?"

"When you agreed to 'simple,' I assumed you meant no strings attached, no emotions, just keep it to the physical stuff," I said.

"When you asked me that question, that very first night in my room, that's what I thought I meant, too. That's what I thought I wanted."

"What you _thought_ you wanted?" _Did he really want the same thing as me, all along?_

"The more time passed, the more I realized 'simple' was actually pretty fucking complicated. I know now that I've had feelings for you for a while, and trying to keep that out of the picture, trying to stick to just enjoying the physical stuff? That was when 'simple' became damn near unbearable. It felt like all we had was what we did when we were alone. The rest of the time, it was like it wasn't real. I wanted to touch you, hold your hand, _show_ you, but didn't think you wanted that in front of Mom and Dad."

"Why didn't you say something? Jesus – all this time!"

"Because I thought _you_ wanted 'simple,' the way you defined it. 'You, me, horny,' remember?"

"God, we're fucking idiots." I kissed his chest.

"Remember that day in the yard? I tried to tell you then, when I said you were the only one I wanted this with. But what I heard you saying back to me was that I was your friend, and that you wanted to just let it be whatever it was. I guess we've both misunderstood each other. I didn't know how to say it any plainer, without saying it, and I couldn't …say it." He laughed at how stupid that sounded.

"So, what about now? Where are we?"

He smiled and rolled us to our sides, kissing me all the while. He put his hands on my face, in my hair, down my neck and shoulders and back, kissing, always kissing; tender, lingering, worshipful kisses. I felt it. I knew. But still…

"Say it, just once. I need to hear it. I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but it means everything to me."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "I love you, Jasper." I felt his lips curl into a smile as he kissed me again, felt his body respond against mine.

"Show me," I whispered, knowing he would.

**********

We made love to each other, intermittently crying with relief and laughing at our own stupidity. We finally had to stop when we both had throbbing headaches from all the fucking tears. He told me again, just as we were about to fall asleep, but held his fingers over my lips when he thought I would reciprocate. I nodded and kissed his fingertips.

It has become my secret gesture to him; the pad of my index finger against my lips. He knows what it means, and I do it often. It makes him smile, every time. It is subtle enough that no one knows what it is. Even if they figure it out, I don't care. Maybe it makes me look deep in thought. That's fine with me – it's the truth.

He says the words to me from time to time, saving them for the days he knows I need to hear them the most. It makes them even more meaningful than if he said them all the time. He never fails to show me, somehow, every day.

**********

We fell asleep that night wrapped in each others arms, sweaty and sticky and naked. It was only a few hours until daybreak. Mom would be calling us down to breakfast not long after.

I woke to him nuzzling my ear, and a bird chirping near my window. "Do you want to go back to your room? It's starting to get light out. Mom will be knocking on doors."

He smiled. "I left mine wide open last night."

I thought for a minute. "She'll think you're up already, downstairs somewhere."

"I don't care, either way. I don't want to hide any more."

I kissed him and nodded _yes_, then stood up from the bed.

"What are you doing?"

I opened the windows on either side of my bed and grabbed the trashcan tucked under my night stand.

"There are varying degrees of 'not hiding,' and it probably smells like a sweaty whorehouse in here. I'm limiting the impact of our 'not hiding,'" I said quietly. "I don't think Mom's ready for _full_ disclosure on all this, do you?"

He laughed, and I shushed him, grinning. "Here," I said, tossing his boxers at him. "Put these back on in case she decides this is a morning to walk in." I emptied the trashcan into the one in my bathroom and tied the bag closed, then splashed a handful of water on my face and rinsed out my mouth. He scooted past me, grazing a hand across my back, and did the same. He relieved himself and came back to bed, watching me pull on a pair of old hospital scrubs.

We heard Mom's footsteps in the hallway a good while later, and her hesitation at Edward's door. She walked away, back towards her and Dad's room, and a few minutes later came back down our hall, her slippers lightly shuffling on the hardwood floor. She tapped on Em's door first, giving her usual morning greeting, then Rose's door, then stopped in front of mine. It was her habit to knock, chirp out a few words, and wait for a response to make sure we were conscious. I looked at Edward and he nodded, agreeing without me having to say it. She knocked.

"Time to get up, boys! Burning daylight!"

She addressed us in the plural.

"Be down in a minute, Mom," we answered, in unison.

Dad spoke, just loud enough to hear through the door. "C'mon, Es." I imagined him taking her hand, or putting his arm around her, and leading her away from my door.

Edward kissed me and quietly went to his room to shower and dress. I showered also, and still made it down ahead of him. I waited for the coffee to finish brewing, with Mom's hand on my shoulder. The five of us stood in the kitchen with this bizarre tension between us. None of us knew what to say, but we were clearly all in the same head space.

Edward bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen a few minutes later with a warm smile on his face. I was glad the light of day hadn't changed anything that happened between us during the night. He ducked his head sheepishly and touched each of us in turn as he made his way over to the coffee pot: a Vulcan neck pinch for Em, ruffled hair for Rose, a kiss on the cheek each for Dad and Mom, and a soft pat on the chest for me. The rest of us looked at each other like it was Christmas morning and there were sooty boot prints on the carpet. His relative ebullience was an unexpected gift.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter and put his arm loosely behind my neck. The smug bastard acted like this change in behavior was no big deal. In retrospect, it was perfect.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" he asked no one in particular, sipping his coffee.

Dad cleared his throat and laughed. "Let's stick close to home today, just us. I feel like I never get to be home with you all at the same time any more. Let's just keep it simple today."

Edward snorted and looked at me like he was about to bust a gut. I shook my head and took a sip of coffee. He kissed my temple, and I leaned into it with my eyes closed. He lingered there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then pulled back. "Sounds good to me."

Rose was staring at us with her mouth hanging open, looking back and forth between us with the eyes of a kit-kat clock. Emmett looked as if he'd caught our parents doing the deed, then he smiled.

Mom called us all back to earth. "Alright, nothing to see here. I need two volunteers to set the table, one to help me cook, and the last two voices get to clean up."

Rose and Emmett got stuck with dish duty, still too stunned by Edward's little display to respond any faster. Mom flicked me on the ass with a dish towel, and the spell was broken.

The day was sunny, and we all had lunch together on the back patio about one o'clock. Edward and I spent the afternoon weeding Mom's flower garden as payback for the mess we made changing the oil in my car. Rose took a nap after lunch while Em and Dad cleared the dishes. Mom settled in a lawn chair with a new book. When he was done in the kitchen, Dad pulled a chair up next to her and stretched out in the September sun, watching us pull weeds. Em never came back outside, and I had a feeling he was napping with Rose, with her bedroom door wide open, of course. Edward and I cleaned up after Mom was satisfied with the flower bed, then settled in the living room with a movie. I fell asleep with his head in my lap, one hand on his chest, the fingers of the other twined in his hair.

It was a good day.

_**** Epilogue ****_

About a week or so later, Dad sat us both down to discuss 'ground rules' for our behavior in light of recent developments. He expected us to 'respect his home' with regard to our intimate activities. I took that to mean keep it behind closed doors and away from public scrutiny (and out of the living room) at least until we were both eighteen. It was only a few months away, so that wasn't a terrible hardship.

He suggested that one of us change back to our original surname to help stave off any future drama over our family status. Since Edward had no interest in his mother's name, I was happy to go back to being a Whitlock, with the concession of taking Cullen as my middle name. We began that process almost immediately, and it was a simple thing to do. Part of me wished we could have both stayed Cullens; I liked the idea of some day being introduced as Mr. and Mr. Cullen and have it be legally accurate. Until then, I am content to be Jasper Whitlock.

We rented a house with Emmett when we went away to college, and Rose joined us the following year. Edward and I watched their relationship slowly deepen and develop into what we always knew it would. We were highly selective about who we told that we'd all been adopted siblings before we were couples. It was never a problem for the people close enough to us to know the whole story.

Emmett and Rose got married the year after we all graduated from college, and gave Mom and Dad their first grandchild about a year later; a daughter they named Leah. Edward and I adopted an infant daughter a few years later. We named her Isabella, Bella for short, and she is the light of our life.

We expanded on my finger-kiss gesture to include quite a few other meanings. It evolved into our own little unspoken language. Isabella, however, knows the word 'love' and hears it often, from many mouths.

Our family grew while we were still in college when Mom and Dad took in another fosterling: a black haired, bull-headed orphan named Alice, with an uncanny knack for making predictions. She saw Em and Rose's second child before he was even conceived; even down to the day he would be born. Jacob was a handsome baby, brawny like his father. Alice, Leah and Bella never leave his side, especially Bella.

Edward and I have had our ups and downs throughout the years, but never lost the connection we found that summer, never failed to feel that passion, never wavered in our commitment to each other, even when we butt heads. We surround ourselves with people who understand us. We've had good careers, good health, a good life. A rich life.

A simple life.

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A/N I appreciate your words of support for this story, and hope you will inspired to read other stories that might be otherwise outside your comfort level.

thank you to tby789 and LolaShoes for hosting the contest that inspired this, to stavanger1 just because, and a handful of wonderful others (*wink* you know who you are) who've PM'd me their love for this story, and encouraged me to share the rest of it.


	3. Housewarming: an epilogue extra

_**Housewarming **_a "Simple" epilogue extra

In "Simple," Edward is an emotionally scarred boy who spent several years in foster care, but was adopted into a loving family at the age of 12. The summer before his senior year of high school, Edward's relationship with his adoptive brother Jasper changes dramatically when they discover their attraction to one another. After a brief, but very intense, sexual experience, they decide to pursue their interest in each other purely for the purpose of physical release; keeping things "simple." Throughout the rest of the summer, Jasper struggles to hide the depth of emotion he feels, knowing Edward is too damaged to reciprocate. While outwardly close as brothers, their real relationship exists almost solely in the realm of their secret physical encounters. After a difficult episode with a classmate at the beginning of school, Jasper finally reveals his true feelings to Edward, and is shocked to learn Edward feels the same, and that neither one of them had ever really thought of their relationship as purely physical. Rather than continue hiding, they reveal their deep love for one another to their family and discover it wasn't a complete surprise after all.

"Housewarming" picks up the story during the epilogue, as Jasper and Edward go away to college with their brother Emmett. I hope you enjoy this smutty little addition to their story, written for Ninapolitan's "Friday Free For All" over at Twilighted.

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series, nor any of the characters created by Stephenie Meyer. I do not make any money from the writing of this story._

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**~*~*~*~* Edward *~*~*~*~*~**

"All right boys, head 'em up, and move 'em out." Dad's voice rang out as we all piled into our vehicles; Jasper and me in front, Dad, Mom and little Seth behind us pulling a box trailer, and Emmett and Rose pulling up the rear.

Our little caravan pulled away from the house I would likely always think of as 'home.' It was really the only home Jasper, Emmett and I had ever known. Carlisle asked me a few weeks prior if I wanted him to track down my birth mother before I left for school, but I had no interest. I'd finally begun to heal the wounds she gave me, and I had no interest in picking off the scabs. I had enough emotional scars, and wasn't eager to provide her with any opportunities to give me more. She'd given me birth, and not very much else that I wanted to remember. Leaving for college meant leaving Carlisle, Esme, Rose and, now, little Seth, but Elizabeth was never _home_ to me. The Cullens were my family and wherever Jasper was, was _home_.

Three vehicles, a rented box trailer, one bike rack, and our entire family hit the road at 9:00 am on a sunny Saturday in August. It kinda felt like _The Beverly Hillbillies_; all we needed was granny in the rumble seat. I started whistling the theme song…

_Come and listen to a story 'bout a man named Jed…_

Jasper's right hand flew off the steering wheel and smacked me square in the chest with a _thud_. "Goddamn it, Edward. Now I'm going to have that fucking song in my head all goddamn day. Fucking ear worm…"

"Hands at ten and two, Whitlock." I pulled his hand to my face and kissed it, then placed it back on the steering wheel and patted it condescendingly.

Before half a laugh escaped me, he'd playfully slapped me on the back of the head, tousling a fistful of my hair, no doubt making it even more of a fucking mess than normal. In a matter of seconds, my phone was vibrating in my pocket, and Dad was honking his horn behind us. Jas looked up and adjusted the rearview mirror, seeing Dad wagging his finger at our slap-fest antics.

"Fuck, Ed. Why are you always getting us into shit? We're not even on the fucking interstate yet and Dad's pissed."

I answered my phone. "You don't even have to say it, Mom."

"Edward Anthony Cullen, do I need to separate you two?"

I cringed at the use of my middle name, and looked over my shoulder to wave at her in the car behind us, clearly seeing her angry glare even through the bike rack partially blocking the back window. "No, we're fine."

"Well, settle down and let Jasper drive in peace or you'll come back here and ride with Dad."

"Yes, Mom." I ended the call and looked over at Jasper, who was fighting a smile.

"She's really freaking out, isn't she?"

I knew it was more than Jasper's driving that had her on edge. It was the same reason she'd agreed to foster little Seth a few weeks ago. All three of her boys were leaving at the same time, leaving Rose the only one still at home, and she didn't want to admit she hated the idea of having such an empty, quiet house. "She'll be fine."

"How did we end up in front, anyway? Shouldn't Dad be leading this train?"

"I don't know. I think its Dad's way of letting us symbolically lead the way into our future or some shit," I said, smiling at the thought.

"And how convenient for Em to be bringing up the rear, behind Dad pulling a box trailer."

"Don't you mean convenient for Rose? Three hours alone in a car with Emmett, and no audience?"

"I bet she tries to give him road head before we even get all the way out of town."

I shuddered at the thought, rubbing my hands over my eyes. "Aw, jeez, Jas. Is that my payback for the ear worm? Fucking hell." Rose had been pushing for Em to take things to the next level for the past few months, but he was holding out for her to finish high school. How Emmett resisted this long, I will never know.

"Remember the look on his face when we came out? You'd think he'd caught Mom riding Dad reverse cowgirl."

"Yeah, but you had to know he was thinking _game on_ for him and Rose."

"Oh, he was dreaming about that long before you ever assaulted me in the pool that day."

"Yeah – wait… What? Before _I_ assaulted _you_? Fuck, Jas, _you _were the one with the grabby hands, as I recall, asshole."

"Whatever. You know you wanted a piece of this. I just happened to be the one with the balls that day." He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, a wicked smirk on his lips.

I leaned over the center console and wetly kissed a line up his neck to his ear, and palming his crotch. "And what fucking dee-licious balls they turned out to be."

"Christ, Edward." He turned to face me and his eyes flickered to my tongue licking my lips. Before he had a chance to say anything else, Dad was laying on the horn again, and my phone was buzzing in my pocket. I didn't bother answering it, knowing who was on the other end and what she'd say. I sat back in my seat and waved my hand back at them without turning to look. I fiddled with my iPod, nudged the seat back to recline a bit, wove my hands behind my head and watched the miles roll by.

I woke up two and a half hours later to Jasper gently touching my face. "Hey, babe, wake up. We're almost there." We were just pulling off the interstate and were only a few miles from our new home away from home. We'd all come house hunting together and had seen the place a couple of times, but Mom and Rose had spent more time here so far than Jas, Em or I. After Mom and Dad closed on the place, we'd all spent an entire weekend cleaning and painting, but Mom and Rose put in the most effort. They bought our larger furniture items a few weeks ago and arranged for them to be delivered this afternoon, and the three of us had been happy to let them feed their nesting instinct.

The house was just a few blocks from campus and provided Dad with a good investment opportunity. It was one of the few places this close to the university that had never been turned into a rental property, and all our neighbors were students. The house was pretty old, but had been well cared for so there was little to be done aside from a general cleaning and updating the appliances. There were three bedrooms, two baths, laundry in the basement, a detached garage, a big yard, and it was all ours.

The air between Jasper and I seemed to hum as we pulled into the driveway. He turned off the engine and took my hand in his, wordlessly staring at the garage door.

"All of a sudden this just kinda feels like a dream."

"I know, Jas." I rubbed my thumb across his.

"Are we really, actually, going to live together? Like, _live together_ live together? It's just…"

"Hey," I whispered, leaning in for a small kiss. "Isn't this what we both want?"

He kissed me back, firm and warm. "It just seems it took forever for this to happen, and now here it is. Here we are, _finally_. Surreal."

I combed my fingers through his hair and nodded my head towards the house. "It's real, and it's all ours. Well, Dad's, technically, but still."

"Break it up, we got work to do." Emmett's knuckles tapping on my window startled both of us out of our vag moment, and we got out of the car without another word.

The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of boxes and furniture deliveries and kitchen wares and new sheets and towels and closet organizers and curtain rods and dresser drawers and sweating and happy exhaustion. We met a few of our neighbors, mostly a house full of girls from next door who seemed genuinely disappointed when two of them noticed Jasper and I holding hands on the back porch during a break. Rose laughed when she overheard Emmett telling one of them 'thanks, but no thanks,' but shook her head at the way it puffed up his ego.

It was nearly dark by the time Mom and Dad were ready to call it quits and head home with Seth and Rose. "Well, boys, I think we're heading out." Dad pulled me into a hug first, then Jas, and finally Emmett. Over the course of the last few weeks, we'd each experienced a father-to-son talk about becoming responsible adults and starting a new phase of our lives and focusing on our studies, so this was a different sort of goodbye. Mom spared no emotion, and bawled over each of us in turn. We hugged little Seth, perched on Rose's hip, and admonished him to be good, although we knew the words were wasted. He was going to be hard for Esme to let go of when his mom got out of rehab. We were surprised to see very little emotion between Em and Rose, but then we figured they'd already shared a private goodbye when there were fewer eyes and ears around.

We stood on the front porch and waved as they drove away. Emmett clamped his arms around our shoulders when they were finally out of sight. "Boys, you know I love you, but I don't need nightly reminders that I'm the only one in this house not getting any. Are we cool?"

Jasper stifled a laugh. "Yeah, we're cool," I said.

"Excellent. I'm fucking starved. Who's up for pizza?"

Three hours, one video game, and two large supreme pizzas later, we were finally headed to bed.

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**~*~*~*~* Jasper *~*~*~*~*~**

I helped Em lock up the house while Edward headed off to our room. _Our_ room. Our room, _our bed_. The concept was still surreal. I kept waiting to wake up and be back in the pool that day, this time with Edward rejecting me utterly and the past year nothing but a dream.

I heard the shower and got hard picturing his long, toned body slippery and warm, arched back with his hands in his hair, lathered and wet. I closed the bedroom door behind me, reminded that there was no deadbolt on our bedroom door, and glad that Edward hadn't asked for one. I turned off all the lights but the one on my bedside table, then stripped and entered our bathroom. I stepped into the shower and smiled at the vision before me, just as I'd imagined.

_Beautiful._

I reached out to touch his chest, and felt him hum at the contact; the noise of the shower drowning the sound itself. He leaned his head back into the spray to rinse his hair, squeezing the lather from his wild mane; thick foamy clods sliding down his neck and shoulders. He pulled me into his arms, folding them around me until there was nothing separating us from shoulder to knee. My skin was still dry; I hadn't stepped under the spray yet. I felt coarse and gritty against his slick wetness, a day's worth of dried sweat and grime polluting my skin. He kissed me once, then pivoted our bodies until I was under the cascading water; the heat, combined with the security of his arms, soothing me, grounding me, anchoring me to this place and to him. Without stepping away, he tilted my head back and pushed my hair out of my face, running his fingers through it until it was saturated. He poured a dollop of shampoo into his palm and began scrubbing his hard fingertips against my scalp, melting me more and more with every pass. He used the lather to wash my face, gently running his hands over my brow, cheeks and eyes, then my ears and my stubbly jaw and throat. He turned my back to him so I could rinse my hair and face, then pulled me tight against his chest. My head lolled against his shoulder and his hands began an almost ritualistic worship of my body. I was anointed by his hands, cleansed, reassured, made new, made whole.

_Real. This is real._

Whenever we were alone together, regardless of whether we had sex, it was intimate and full of emotion. He never failed to show me how much he loved me with either tender touches, or hungry urgency. No matter what the circumstance, he'd learned to anticipate what I needed in the way of touch as if he knew me better than I knew myself. This shower, this touch, was about affirming this new stage of our lives, that regardless of what changed around us, he was a constant, we were solid. It was about comfort and security and care, patience, attentiveness and longevity.

He bathed me with loving hands; shoulders, armpits, fingernails, belly button. He dropped to his knees before me and bathed me with gentle hands; legs, groin, ass, knees, toes. He stood once more and bathed me with firm hands everywhere in between. Every touch told me what I meant to him; even though he seldom gave the words breath, I knew. _He loves me._

When I was clean, I attempted to return the favor, hoping that he felt the same love and care he'd lavished on me. We lingered until the water ran cold, impressed at how long it lasted. We stepped out and dried each other, and walked hand in hand to bed. _Our_ bed. We pulled back the covers in tandem, the night much too warm for the comforter Rose had put on the bed. We lay down facing each other, covered only in moonlight from the open window. He placed his palm on my cheek and leaned in to kiss me, warm and sweet, capturing my lower lip between his, teasing it with his teeth, smiling. We scooted closer to one another as the kiss deepened, our hands lazily seeking the other's skin until we were pressed chest to chest, our legs intertwined, our need for one another stirring our bodies to wakefulness.

His tongue tip flicked the spot just below and behind my ear and he whispered "are you tired?"

"A little," I answered, tickling the small of his back with my fingertips, feeling a garden of goose bumps bloom under my touch.

"_Too_ tired?"

I smiled. I was never completely 'too tired.' "For marathon gymnastics, yes. For slow and easy, no."

"Mmm. Slow and easy sounds nice." He pulled my hips against his, slowly rubbing our cocks together as we continued to kiss and touch.

"Take me, E. I need you."

He looked me in the eye, making sure he understood. I tended to be the more natural 'top,' but only barely. We took turns as the mood struck, but tonight I needed him to do this.

"I need you, too," he whispered, kissing, licking and nibbling his way across my torso as he nudged me to roll onto my back. I pushed his damp hair back from his face as he worked me over. I loved seeing him close his eyes as he lost himself in the taste and feel of my skin.

He was always a careful lover, but that word doesn't really cover it. Even when things were fast and rough, he took time to make sure I was ready, and that I was getting what I needed. He was extremely cautious the first time he topped me, fearful of hurting me, unsure how to gauge his own strength. As time went on, he learned my limits, and his own, as well.

All rational thought left my mind when I felt his mouth on my cock. "Ohhh, fuck! Edward… Jesus." He used the slightest suction possible, with soft, loose, wet lips. He wrapped them around the edge of my head, lightly teasing that spot on the underside with his lower lip and teeth, and it drove me insane. When I was writhing beneath him, he increased the suction incrementally and pulled me in, inch by inch, his tongue working me over like I was candy.

He pulled off me with a pop, kissed the inside of my hip, and pumped me with his fist while he spoke. "Do you know how bad I wanted to do this in the car today?" He continued pumping me with one hand while he took each of my balls, one at a time, into his hot mouth, rolling them with his tongue, sucking them. I felt the pad of his other thumb gently rubbing small circles behind them, then slowly moving farther and farther back.

"E, please…"

"I know, baby, I got 'ya." He released my cock, planting a soft peck on the base of my shaft, and leaned towards his night stand for lube and a condom, which I'd made sure to unpack and put away.

"Hey – no condom. Okay?"

He stopped dead, and looked down at me with his brows furrowed.

This was new for us, bareback; something we'd not done since that awkward first time in the pool last summer. "It's only ever been me and you, Edward, and I want to feel you. I want you to feel me."

He nodded and walked to the bathroom. He was gone less than a minute, but I felt cold without his body pressed to mine, even in the humid August night. He came back with a towel thrown over his shoulder and sat on the edge of the bed. With one hand on my knee, he said "lift." I raised my ass up off the bed and he situated the towel beneath me.

"Good thinking," I said, and he just smiled.

"Now, where was I?" He climbed back between my legs and draped his body alongside mine, one arm behind my neck as he kissed me, the other wedged between us, tugging our cocks together with his fist. I couldn't help but roll my hips towards his, thrusting into his hand.

"You'll figure it out."

"Yeah, I will. You feel so fucking good under me, Jas." He sucked at my jugular, no doubt trying to leave a mark. He let go of our cocks and I hissed at the loss, but I heard him pump the lube bottle and smiled.

He reached back down between us and rubbed the lube on his cock and my ass, then slowly slipped a fingertip in as he kissed me.

"Mmmm."

"You okay, babe?"

"Better than okay."

He nodded and kissed me again and rubbed his belly against my trapped cock, which felt amazing. He added a second finger, easing me, soothing the tense muscle, waiting to feel me relax into his invasion, letting me enjoy the warm spark of being entered, knowing I was anticipating the blissful burn of his cock stretching my ass. When he knew I was ready, he slid back a ways, angling his hips so that his cock lined up with the hand he was using to prep me. With barely a heartbeat between, he pressed his head into me just as he withdrew his fingers, making me gasp at the change in sensation, from his slender, powerful fingers, to his blunt, fat cock head. He pressed in an inch or two, and waited.

"Still okay?" He gently took hold of my cock and started stroking.

"No, no, don't." I put my hand over his, halting his movements. "Too much." I didn't want to be distracted.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice strained and needy. I took a deep breath and let it out, then bore down just a bit. He moaned soft and low, hooked my knees with his arms and leaned over me, moving slow. Enter a bit, wait, retreat. Enter a bit more, wait, retreat. He turned his face to kiss my knee, then hung his head against mine, and I could feel the soft pant of his breath like a warm blanket on my face. "So goddamn good, Jas. Jesus, skin to skin… So fucking _good_."

All I could do was moan in response.

He began moving more smoothly, every stroke deeper than the last until he was finally giving me everything he had, winding me tighter, pushing me higher. I loved the sensation of his balls softly slapping against me, the tops of his thighs against my ass, the fluid undulations of his entire body as he moved over me and within me, filling me, stroking hidden places only he would ever find. The look on is face was a mix of quiet concentration and anticipation; enjoying the sensations my body gave him, knowing the best was yet to come, just out of reach, but within sight. He was so incredibly beautiful, his sweat-slicked body shimmering in the moonlight.

My hands were all over him, anywhere I could reach; his ass, his thighs, the crook of his knees, his waist, back and shoulders, his pecs, his sweaty face, his ridiculous hair. I was never able to feel enough of him, even with his glorious fucking cock buried to the hilt. I always wanted more, craved more.

We were both almost constantly in motion, quickly going way beyond 'slow and easy.' A dozen thrusts from above me with my legs over his shoulders and then he'd lean back onto his heels, aggressively pulling my hips against him, my legs around his waist. A dozen more thrusts and he'd shift both of my legs to one side, rocking on his wide-spread knees. A dozen more and he'd roll onto his back, watching me ride. A dozen more and he was above me again, squatting on his tip-toes, his hands pinning the backs of my knees. All the while, we whispered to each other: more of this, scoot back, just like that, hold me here, wait for a minute, yes right there. There were little endearments, encouragements, breathy grunts and moans, curses and oaths, praise and pleas, and kisses, always kisses. Tongue and lips and teeth and jaw, desperate starved kisses, sweet affectionate pecks, long slow wet explorations, and panting lip-to-lip tenderness.

He slowed down and propped himself on one elbow, touching my face with his hand as he kissed me, his thumb at the corner of my mouth. "Fuck, the way your body makes me feel..."

I caressed his face, wiping sweat from his eyes. He pressed his cheek to my palm, trapping it between his face and shoulder with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of our bodies colliding and our combined breathing.

"E, I'm almost there."

He nodded and sat back on his heels, rocking into me, and took my cock in his hand. He stroked me long and firm, just the way I liked, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. "Oh Jas, so fucking hot, I'm so close."

I could barely speak. "Lean back…oh _fuck!_ Yeah, right there – don't fucking stop, please don't stop…"

He'd leaned back just enough to change his angle, pulling my ass slightly up onto his thighs, and I was gone. He pushed into me hard, and I was shooting practically to my chin; his hand continuing to work me until I was empty and oversensitive. He pushed again, driving in for one last thrust, trying to crawl inside me, pulling me tight against him. He stilled then, and I felt him twitch as he filled me. I knew that if Emmett weren't at the other end of the house, Edward would have been shouting my name and a string of obscenities.

He looked at me and smiled broadly, then collapsed half on top of me with an '_oof_.' I laughed, and he ruffled my hair, snuggling into my neck, his heart pounding beside mine, cum and sweat making our chests slippery. He put his hand between my limp legs and gently palmed my inner thigh.

"You okay, babe?"

I nodded and hummed, kissing the side of his head, pushing his hair back from his eyes.

"That wasn't exactly a slow and easy ride…" He almost sounded apologetic, but not quite.

"It was perfect."

He nodded against my neck. "It was."

In that moment, everything was right with the world. I had my best friend and lover in my arms, and nothing but dreams and a long future stretched out before us. We lay like that for several minutes, catching our breath and enjoying the quiet. After a bit, he went to the bathroom to splash some cool water on his face and clean up a bit. He returned with a warm washcloth to wipe me down, then took away the towel he'd placed under me. He kissed my belly, took the linens to the bathroom, and returned to bed.

We lay facing each other, drowsy and content, grateful for the cool breeze finally floating in through the window.

"Can you believe we just had sex under our own roof?" I smiled as I asked the question, still slightly buzzed from being so thoroughly fucked.

"Yeah, I can." He smiled in return, touching my cheek and tracing the outline of my lips.

I kissed his fingers, knowing he would understand my intent with the slight variation on our silent gesture, for when the words weren't enough, or were far too much.

_I love you, Edward._

He nodded and pulled me close. I drifted to sleep, and right before it claimed me, I heard him whisper.

"I love you, too."

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* * *

A/N: yippee! Considerably more lemontastic than "Simple", but I hope you enjoyed. Press the little green button and let me know...

Thank you to all of you who fell in love with this version of Edward and Jasper, and have been so generous for their feedback and support... MWAH!!

i never do play lists for my fic, but i'd have to say Lifehouse "everything" has run through my head on repeat the last few weeks....


	4. Flick, and Twist: an apilogue extra

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Rose blew out the candle as we sang, then peeled the paper off her cupcake. Licking a smear of buttercream from her thumb, she looked straight at Emmett and smiled. He rolled his eyes, and I stifled a laugh.

"I don't even know how you can think about eating that," he told her.

She cast a hard look at Em. "What? When did you become such a prude?"

Emmett laughed, eyes huge, hands flailing. "Today, when we walked in on them bent over our kitchen counter fucking, Rose!"

Rose mumbled under her breath, looking from me, to Edward, and back again. "It was hot. You know it was."

I had to look away, to keep Emmett from commenting on my blush.

Edward threw up his hands and grunted. "Aw, fuck. I'm going to bed. Happy birthday, sweetie." He kissed Rose on the forehead and squeezed her shoulder. She stood up and hugged him tight, and whispered loud enough for us all to hear.

"The buttercream was delicious, E."

Edward smiled widely and looked at me. "Thank Jas for that." He kissed her again, a quick peck on the lips, and headed for our bedroom with a smirk on his face. I wasn't far behind.

~x~x~x~

I was whisking the butter when I felt hands on my hips and little nibbles on my bare neck, above my apron strap. While the oven had been running, it was too hot for a shirt.

"Am I too late to help?"

I turned just enough to catch his lips in a sloppy kiss, trying to ignore the desire to drag him off to our bedroom. In addition to his full class schedule, he'd been working extra hours to save for a new guitar and it felt like days since we'd had any time alone.

"Cupcakes are ready, and all I have left is the frosting." I gestured over my shoulder to the kitchen table, where the cupcakes were waiting. They'd turned out nicely, and I was glad Mom had the patience to talk me through it over the phone. I was a decent enough cook, but baking had never been my strong suit. Earlier in the week, I'd watched four different videos on making buttercream, knowing Rose hated the pre-made stuff.

He dragged his hand across my ass as he walked toward the table, admiring my work. I had to shake my head at his obvious attempt to distract me.

"They look nice, babe."

"Thanks, E." I turned down the mixer and began adding half the confectioner's sugar to my softened butter. "There's an orphan there, if you want to try one." I'd flubbed filling one and it wasn't as pretty as the others, with a large dribble of overcooked batter clinging to the outside of the paper.

"This one?"

I looked up, licking a smudge of powder from my finger. "Yep." I smiled when his eyes glazed over as I licked again, more thoroughly. _Two can play this game._

He picked up the small cake and sauntered back, then leaned against the stove at my side. He toyed with the paper, peeling it back slowly, while I poured heavy cream into the mixer bowl. A little splashed on my hand, and I held it up to him. Grinning, he closed his eyes and used the tip of his tongue to taste the cream, softly moaning.

I was glad my running shorts were loose and could accommodate my growing _problem_. We hadn't had sex in almost a week, and I was eager to get him into our bed. He went back to fiddling with the cupcake, taking small bites and then breaking off tiny pieces and popping them into my mouth. I tried to catch his fingers with my lips, but he was too quick.

After the cream came more sugar, then vanilla and a pinch of salt. Finally I added just a drop or two of red food coloring, yielding a beautiful soft peachy-pink I hoped Rose would like. I turned off the mixer, satisfied with my results. He started to stick his finger in the mixing bowl, but I knocked his hand away, scowling.

"What?"

"Get your fingers out of there! You'll get a taste. Have some patience." I smiled and bumped his hip with mine.

"I want more than a damn taste," he muttered, pretending to look away but still watching me from the corner of his downcast eyes. He hopped up to sit on the counter, clunking his bare feet against the cabinet.

"Oh, there's plenty for more than just a taste, babe."

I brought the tray of cakes back to the counter. With a small spoon, I scooped up a bit of frosting and brought it too my mouth. His face drooped with disappointment. I tasted the frosting, enjoying the way it melted on my tongue, then held the spoon out to him, and he smiled. He popped it in his mouth and hummed, sucking it like a popsicle. He flipped it over so his tongue could conform to the bowl, and pulled it from his mouth, ending with his head tilted back and his lips parted. I licked my lips, wanting to taste the buttercream on his tongue.

"So good," he said, handing the spoon back to me. I deliberately grazed his crotch before taking it from him.

"Mmm hmm. Creamy and delicious," I said, running my hand up the inside of his thigh. He clamped his legs together, momentarily trapping my hand. I laughed and leaned in for a brief, but heated, kiss.

"So, what's next?" he asked, eyeing the mixer bowl. I removed it from the stand and folded the frosting once or twice with a spatula.

"Now, we frost." I handed him a second offset spatula and demonstrated how I wanted them to look. Nothing fancy, just a generous swirl of frosting on each cupcake, as neat as possible. We got through about half the cakes before he gave up, frustrated that his didn't look as good as mine.

"Fuck it. I'm done." He hopped down from the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, watching me work.

"Oh, come on. It's just a flick of the wrist, and a little twist. I know you can flick and twist."

"Flick and twist?" he asked, now standing behind me with his hands on my waist.

I nodded, concentrating on the cupcake in my hand and the glob of frosting on my spatula. "See? Flick… and twist. Easy."

I heard a soft whoosh behind me as he pulled off his shirt, then wrapped his arms around me. He pulled us close, my bare back against his chest, with his chin resting on my shoulder as he watched me frost another cupcake.

"Hmmm. Are you sure you've taught me this technique before?"

"Well, to some people it just comes naturally," I said, pushing my ass back into him. "Maybe you're just not able to master it… properly."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to practice more." One of his hands slid down to the top of my thigh and the other reached for his abandoned spatula. I held up the last cupcake up and wiggled it, waiting for him to try. He scooped up some buttercream, way more than he needed, and began to frost the cake in my hand.

"That's too much!" I said, pushing his hand back at the last minute and finishing the cake myself.

The hand on my thigh anchored me against him and I felt his complete arousal through my thin shorts and his jeans. "Too much?" He looked at his loaded spatula and brought it back toward his face for what I assumed was a big taste of buttercream. The next thing I knew, I felt the cool slide of frosting across my shoulder, followed quickly by his lazy tongue. "Mmmm, I think it's not enough."

He leaned back but kept his hips pinned against mine, grinding into me with his own version of flick and twist, while dragging the spatula down my spine.

With shaking hands, I put down the forgotten cake and grabbed the edge of the counter. I pushed back harder and leaned forward, feeling his hot breath on my skin as he licked and bit his way slowly along the trail of frosting.

"Mmm, so fucking good, baby. I love the way you taste, but this is even better.

"More," was all I was able to say.

"More?"

"Mmm." I pushed my hips back again, wiggling until he was wedged along the cleft of my ass, then grinding up and down. I liked the way my running shorts slid against my skin.

He picked up the spatula again, loading it with more frosting, and drew a shape on my back. Once I recognized it as a heart, I stood back up and twisted around enough for a kiss. He pulled me against him, and I felt the buttercream smear between us, leaving a sticky-sweet heart on both of us. He pushed me forward against the counter, and I slid the heavy mixer away, its hard rubber feet chattering loudly on the formica. He nudged the tray of cupcakes to the side, keeping them out of harm's way. This wasn't going to be tender and slow.

I rested my head on my crossed forearms and moaned when I felt him push my shorts down over my hips, letting them pool around my ankles. I kicked them aside when I heard the slow click of zipper teeth, and his breathing coming hard and fast. He sunk his teeth into my flank as he bent over to get rid of the jeans, and I couldn't help but moan at the sensation.

"You are so fucking hot standing there in nothing but that apron. Jesus, I want to fuck you right here."

"Do it."

"I plan to." He rubbed his cock all over my ass, dragging it slowly, playfully prodding where I wanted him most. He ran a finger through the smeared frosting heart on my back and sucked his fingers clean, leaving me aching at the wet sounds his lips made.

"Fuck, Edward. Don't tease me." I reached back with one hand and grabbed his hip.

"Shh. I got ya, babe." He stretched and reached for the olive oil decanter I kept near the stove. "Hold still."

I felt the cold trickle of oil at my tailbone, and his blunt cock head spreading it around.

"Fuck…"

"What was that?" he said, pausing with his cock pressed against my entrance.

"I said, FUCK, Edward. Jesus! Stop teas…"

"Like this?" he asked as he pushed forward, ending my complaint.

"Oooh, oh god yes."

He set a good, hard pace; not frantic, but not lazy, either. He held my cock in a loose over-hand grip, allowing our colliding bodies to provide what I needed to drive me rapidly to completion. All too soon, I was shouting his name, that familiar fire from within scorching my skin in waves.

"Edward! Oh!"

Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the sound of a car in the drive, and the front door opening, but Edward's stream of orgasm-induced profanities blocked out everything else.

"Oh my fucking… Jasper, God! Shit! Fucking hell…" His body shuddered against me, hands tight and hard on my hips.

"Are you guys okay… what the… Jesus, guys!" Emmett's booming voice sounded from a few feet away, and I looked over my shoulder long enough to see Rose's face being pushed into his chest as Emmett turned away.

We couldn't help but laugh, breathless and still slightly dazed from our near-simultaneous climax.

"This is NOT funny, guys! God damn! That's _our_ kitchen too, ya know. Come on, Rose." I heard him stomping away, Rose giggling, and then the front door slamming.

Edward's forehead pressed between my shoulder blades and he dragged two fingers to press against my lips, silently telling me he loved me. I kissed them to complete the gesture, then sucked them into my mouth.

He laughed and took a slow step back, leaving me empty and chilled.

I stood and arched my back, stretching as we surveyed the damage: cupcakes less than a yard away, offset spatula on the floor, mixing bowl overturned, pink frosting smeared on both of us and the counter, olive oil spilled on the stove, clothes strewn everywhere, and both of us shiny with sweat.

I pulled him in for a hug, transferring the smeared buttercream heart on his chest to the front of my apron. "Well, shit. That was fun, aside from the little birthday gift to Rose."

"Eh, she's caught us before. It's Em I'm fucking worried about. We may never get him to step foot in this kitchen again."

I laughed. "And that's a bad thing because…?"

He nodded, smiling. Em was good at dishwashing and cooking on the grill, but that was about the extent of his kitchen skills. "Come on. We've probably got about an hour before they come back. I'd rather be napping when he gets here."

I pulled my shorts back on, and we started cleaning up, sneaking laughing kisses the whole time.

~x~x~x~

I kissed Rose goodnight and headed for our bedroom, hot on Edward's heels. I heard Em's laugh and something about frosting... I stopped and turned back just in time to catch him snaking his hand up under her shirt.

"The rest of the buttercream is in the fridge, if you're curious," I said, earning a couch pillow thrown at my head.

Edward's voice echoed down the hallway from our bedroom. "No it's not, Jas. It's in here."

_God, I love my man._

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A/N not a lot of plot here, but some much-requested delicious fun for Jasper and Edward. This was originally a twitter-prompt suggested by (at)jessypt, who kindly requested a return to "Simple," along with a whole bunch of other lovely people who have been clamoring for more of my boys.

thanks so much for the prompt, Jess, and for giving me a firm nudge in this direction. I hope you enjoyed this as much as E and J did! I know i certainly had a good time picturing it...

Thanks to all the lovely Twitter ladies who assisted with my research for this, including alternative uses for olive oil...

xoxox oh, and here's a truly beautiful piece of pictorial inspiration... NSFW

www DOT flickr DOT com/photos/8622063N04/2978998603/sizes/l/

...are you all reading The Diner?


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